


Mit diesem Herz hab’ ich die Macht

by heirate_mich



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Beelitz-Heilstätten, Dead!Oliver, Death, Early 1900s setting, English Professor Christoph, Fuck Christoph, Fuck Till, Fuck Till’s mom, Gay, Gore, Guilty Flake, History professor Paul, Horrible Till, Kissing, Lots of pain and crying, M/M, Mein Herz Brennt inspired, Nearly dead Richard, Oliver’s heart is literally gone, Paranormal entities/occurrences, Sexual Content, Suicide (not graphic), major character deaths, professing love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heirate_mich/pseuds/heirate_mich
Summary: “It were as if he had been born with his blood already sick.”Though Frau Lindemann has passed, her legacy has carried on thanks to the help of Doktor Lorenz, who kills his patients with tuberculosis to filter their blood and give it to Till in attempt to better him from the terminal illness he has been fighting since childhood. One night, a decade after he was admitted to Beelitz-Heilstätten, a victim of Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz comes back from the dead, seeking the peace that he and others desperately need to rest in.
Relationships: Oliver Riedel/Christoph Schneider, Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers, Till Lindemann/Christian Lorenz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. Eins.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t let Christoph fool you. He’s actually an asshole.

## Eins.

The air was cold and the day was coming to an end. On the horizon, the sun was beginning to set, a warm orange color tinting the sky and creating a silver outline around the clouds that were still lingering. The ground was covered with a layer of iced over snow. It crunched as Christoph walked through the lawn adjacent to his boarding quarters on campus. He was a literature professor at Beelitz Gymnasium in Beelitz, Germany. His candle, which sat in the window, was lit from when he had struck a match earlier that day and brought its tip to the candle's wick to light it, differentiating his window from those surrounding his.

The building where a majority of the professors lived during the school year was quaint. It was quiet and warm, and gave each professor enough space and privacy so that they could carry on with their duties outside of the classroom in peace. Christoph appreciated this. At first, he feared that the living arrangements would prove to be faulty and the noise coming from his neighbors would only distract him, but he couldn't have been more wrong. Every professor on his level of the building was just as quiet as he was. Rather than speaking when they passed one another in the hall or around campus, they oftentimes only gave a tight lipped smile and a single downward nod. Christoph always returned the gesture. It was the least he could do considering he didn't engage with them otherwise.

With that, of course, there were several outliers. Two, to be exact. Christoph had begrudgingly found himself befriending an energetic history professor who went by the name Paul Landers, which wasn't his birth name, and through him, he met another man who worked on campus with them. Christoph had become acquainted with him when he was hired on considering what he taught had branched off of his area of teaching, but he had never gone out of his way to talk to him unless it was about a piece of literature prior to meeting Paul. Richard Kruspe taught a course that focused on Shakespearean literature. Along with reading his plays, they would act them out as well. Richard was a very animated, dramatic person, which blended well with Paul and how he acted. Christoph, when compared to the two of them, was much calmer, but found himself enjoying the time that he spent with them. It surprised him as much as it surprised anyone else who saw the trio sitting with one another at lunch, but he didn't try to change it. Having two friends was much better than having none, even though Christoph would've never admitted that when he first began teaching at Beelitz Gymnasium.

Paul's classes had ended earlier in the day. On Wednesdays, they were always held at eight a.m. sharp. If a student was late, Paul wouldn't punish them by marking their grade down or assigning them extra work. Instead, he'd target them throughout class when it came to asking questions, looking for comparisons to some event or figure, and when he needed something to be done for him. Christoph didn't do anything of the sort. When a student of his arrived late, he sat them in the desk at the front of the classroom and assigned them extra work for the evening. With that, hardly anybody ever showed up tardy. Christoph already distributed a decent amount of work as it was. Having it doubled certainly wouldn't help any of them.

Richard's class, however, was being taught by someone else. It had been since the middle of December. The beginning of the year had come and gone nine days prior to now, meaning that Richard had been in the hospital for nearly a month at this point. He came down with tuberculosis. It spread like wildfire amongst the staff and student body, and seemed to claim anyone who was susceptible to any sort of ailment. Paul had tried to nurse Richard back to health the moment that Richard stated that he wasn't feeling well, but to no avail. When Richard suddenly lost consciousness during a rehearsal for one of the plays that he was close to finishing with his class, he was rushed to the nearby hospital and admitted. Thus far, none of the nurses and doctors at Beelitz-Heilstätten could bring Richard back to full health—in fact, they couldn't even prevent him from getting worse, which is all that he had done since his arrival.

Their trio had then shrunk down to a duo. The first week without Richard felt off. There was no one around for Paul to bounce his ideas off of and no one to match his level of energy. Christoph attempted to keep up with him, but couldn't. After the first week, they found a common ground and stuck with it as they waited for Richard to recover, if he'd ever.

Turning the knob to the door at the front of the building, Christoph opened it quickly and quietly, tapping the toes of his shoes against the pavement outside to rattle the snow off prior to stepping inside. It wasn't as warm as he would've liked it to be within the building, but it was much better than being outside. Sighing through parted lips with a puff of his cheeks, Christoph shoved his hands into the pockets of his thick button up jacket and started up the stairs.

Richard had lived a floor below Christoph, whereas Paul lived in an entirely different building. Seeing as the professors were split amongst living quarters according to their subjects for the most part, it only made sense that Christoph and Richard, who taught courses within the literature realm, boarded together in the same building while Paul, who taught history, lived elsewhere. That didn't mean that Paul didn't sneak over occasionally like one of his out of line students to spend the night with Richard, however. Christoph figured that there was something between them, but never said so to neither Paul nor Richard.

Christoph made his way up to his room and shared a few friendly nods and grins with his colleagues as they passed by one another in the hall. Tonight, Christoph didn't feel very social. A couple times a week, he would stop to ask another professor about books he should read or lessons he should touch up on, but for the most part, Christoph didn't say anything to anyone besides Paul, Richard, and his students. He wasn't one for small talk by any means.

After opening his door and stepping inside, he turned around to shut and lock it behind him. He sighed a second time and shrugged his coat off to hang it on the coat rack beside his door. Following that, he removed his shoes, his socks and trousers that were soaked at the ankle due to the snow, and began unbuttoning his vest to reach the white dress shirt beneath it. Christoph didn't mind wearing many layers during the winter months, but during the summer, it was a pain. He never realized how hot he could become just by walking across the campus when it was humid and warm outside. It didn't help that he usually had a large satchel with him that contained his students' work and his own.

Blowing out the candle in the window, Christoph waved the smoke away before drawing the curtains in on themselves. He sat down at his desk with a long groan and looked at himself in the mirror, his hands stilling in midair just as he was about to reach up to undo his tie.

Christoph was still relatively young at the age of thirty-four. He had never married and didn't have any children of his own, but he had always known that he would never experience either of those things. It was by choice that he decided that. He was fertile and plenty capable of maintaining a relationship. He just had no desire to dedicate himself and his time to marriage or children.

However, he did feel lonely at times. He saw young students parade around campus, holding hands with their partners and sharing what they thought were secret kisses behind trees, within corridors of the school, and on the benches outside during lunch. Christoph couldn't feel bitter about it even if he wanted to. The students were young. It was only natural for them to experiment with one another in whichever way they wanted to, as long as it wasn't harmful.

A handful of the professors would punish students if they saw them having such forms of contact with one another, but Christoph didn't bother. He once had walked into an empty classroom to fetch a book he needed, only to stumble upon two students of his sitting on the desk and kissing. The girl had pulled away with a loud gasp as she shoved the boy away from her and covered her chest with her hands, exasperatedly apologizing for her actions as she scrambled off the desk and righted herself before Christoph. It took a moment, but the boy had done the same shortly after, his cheeks flushed red and voice weak as he attempted to explain what they were doing.

Christoph didn't mind one bit. No clothes had come off, nothing on the desk had been moved or ruined, and no one was harmed during the ordeal.

He simply gestured his hands out towards the students and said, "It's alright, I assure you. You're young—you're doing what children your age do." Nodding once with his words, he looked them over briefly before reaching past them to grab the book that he needed, which had been sitting on the desk. Bringing it back to him, he cleared his throat softly and nodded back to the desk. "Well, then. I'll leave you two to it, if neither of you have any classes to run to soon. Have a lovely day."

Both students shared a dumbfounded look as Christoph then left the room and not only shut the door, but locked it for them behind him as he left. Most everyone knew that Christoph was a strict professor who was very organized, expecting of his students, and educated, but almost no one had any idea that he wasn't a fan of unnecessary punishment. Christoph didn't want his students to fear him. He wanted them to respect him. After all, they were all human.

Christoph looked at himself in the mirror for a moment longer before tightening his jaw and looking away. He had faint wrinkles on his forehead and lines around his mouth, but other than that, no one could tell that he was aging. His hair was still as brown as ever, his eyes still shone as bright as the sky on a clear spring day, and he still had a confident stride in his step as he walked around campus. Christoph was by no means unattractive. In fact, he was one of the most sought after professors on campus, mostly by young female students. Christoph never had favorites nor took a liking to certain students, even if they treated him nicely. He treated everyone with the same amount of respect, attention, and authority, no matter how they viewed him. Thankfully, none of the students who were romantically interested in him had ever made a move, but Christoph wasn't born yesterday. Not only could he tell when one of his students began falling for him by the way they acted around him whilst in class, but they weren't secretive in their conversations amongst others either. If anything, Christoph found it amusing more than anything else.

Once his day clothes had been shed and placed in the basket of dirty laundry in the corner of his room, Christoph headed into his bathroom to bathe. The process never took long, even if Christoph was articulate with the way he did things. He always washed his body off first before he began washing his hair, and immediately following that, he shaved his face and neck. He also tended to his eyebrows whenever they needed work, and he wasn't shy when it came to shaving below the belt when necessary.

Christoph couldn't stand the thought of being anything but pristine. He blamed it on how poorly he had lived as a child before his father had gotten a better job. They lived below the poverty line and hardly had enough water for Christoph and his five siblings to bathe thoroughly. Christoph was always disgusted by himself back in those days, even at the age of seven. From then on, he swore to keep himself as clean as possible to avoid ever feeling as filthy as he did back then. Thus far, he had done fairly well for himself. 

Though the evening was still young, Christoph was tired. He had woken up far before the sunrise that morning and his classes had only amplified how tired he felt. For whatever reason, he hadn't slept well the night before. He had dreams that were disturbing, but yet couldn't be classified as nightmares. It didn't help either that Christoph envisioned seeing something or someone out of the corner of his eye when he woke up. Of course, he was the only one in his room, but the rude awakening had tainted the better part of his day.

Christoph, now dressed in pajamas, got into bed with a book in his hands. He flipped the switch for his kerosene lamp to shut it off, leaving him in the dim lighting provided to him by the candles on either side of his bed and the moonlight coming in through the thin, wispy curtains from the window. Though he knew that reading in the dark was bad for his eyesight, he found that it calmed him more than anything else before bed. After the day that he had, he felt as if he owed this to himself.

The book he read was one recommended by the Russian literature professor two doors down on the left from Christoph's room. Christoph found him to be a bit odd, but polite nonetheless. The book had been translated into German recently, but the author's note at the beginning of the book was still in Russian. Christoph was itching to know what it said, but his knowledge of Russian had grown scarce over the years. He had only learned it for three years during his youth and he believed that a solid year of it was spent learning the alphabet rather than anything else.

In the story, a girl was finding her way throughout life in a family that was far from accepting when it came to breaking the mold and finding oneself. She was different from them. She had known that much since she was a young girl. While she was forced to go to dance lessons with other girls her age, her heart was set on academics. She wanted to dive head first into science, but was forbidden from doing so. Her mother had been a dancer, as had her mother and her mother before her, meaning that if she, the only daughter that her mother had bore, didn't become a dancer, she would bring dishonor to her family. While she knew that, it didn't stop her passion for science, specifically chemistry, from growing.

At fifteen, she ran away from home after witnessing a fight between her father and her mother. He had swung so hard at that her that she swore she heard something crack when his fist made contact with her mother's head, leaving her to make the decision to not only run away to live her life, but to protect herself as well. She desperately wanted to bring her mother with her, but she knew that her mother wouldn't follow through with what she had in mind, even if it saved her from her husband's temper. The girl fled town and never turned back, not even years later when she found out that her mother had died at the hands of her father in the midst of another fight. 

From then on, she went to university for chemistry. Many professors told her she wouldn't go far in the profession considering she was a woman and had studied dance more than anything else, but a few remained open minded. It was that specific handful of professors that motivated her enough to earn several degrees in the science field. The others stood idly by in shock before turning their noses up to her, claiming that even though she managed to get her desired degrees that her work would never take off. Again, she proved them wrong after releasing a paper on nuclear energy compounds that was then sent to a university in Moscow for further inspection. Once it was cleared, she was offered a job there. She left immediately and joined a group of renowned scientists to aid them with their research whilst conducting her own, yet again showing those who had doubted her that she was capable of whatever she wanted to accomplish.

Christoph felt empowered after reading the book. He didn't know how he could ever compare to someone like that. He didn't have anything to prove to himself or others, he didn't think. He had overcome his early childhood poverty, but only because of his parents and the job that his father obtained. He himself did nothing to break free of that particular social status or way of living. It was true that he was the only one in his family to earn a degree and have a job that paid quite a bit, but even then it was different. No one doubted his ability to do such a thing. If anything, they were supportive and had given Christoph the drive that he needed to go forth with what he was attempting to do for himself.

Perhaps in other ways he could relate to the woman in the story. Nothing jumped out to him right away, however, which lead him to rest the book on his nightstand with a frown tugging at his lips. He could think about this more the following day when he was more awake and at ease mentally. For now, he would rest.

Blowing out the candles on either side of his bed, Christoph laid down and tugged his blankets tight over himself, one arm slipping beneath his pillow to keep it against his head and the other tucking itself up against his chest.

—

Another odd dream occurred, only it felt realistic this time around. Christoph stirred in his bed as he began to regain consciousness, his nose scrunched and brows furrowed. What he had seen in his dream, he couldn't remember, but he knew that it was red with an odd diamond shaped pattern covering its upper half. Whatever it was, he remembered it looked human until the red shading started. From there on up, he couldn't remember what it looked like. However, it was still enough to leave him uneasy. 

The curtains to his window were no longer covering the glass. He noticed right away when he turned his head look at the bright moonlight coming in from outside. It was still nighttime, but he didn't know how late it was. Sadly, it seemed like he'd be staying up considering his heart was racing in his chest and he felt very unlike himself.

For a moment, Christoph remained where he was in bed. He didn't sit up or look away from the window, even as he sensed the bed moving to his left. Slowly, his eyes widened and his jaw closed tightly, his teeth silently pressing together inside his mouth. He hadn't moved. He knew he hadn't. All of him was motionless, even his chest as he held his breath.

There was something in bed with him. It was moving. Now that he was paying attention and laying in complete silence, he could hear the slight shuffling of sheets beneath whatever was next to him. Christoph didn't know what to do. No one had ever broken into his room. He didn't have to worry about such a thing considering guards oftentimes kept a close eye on the living quarters for the professors during the night, but now it seemed as if he had to. Christoph was entirely unarmed and didn't even have so much as a sharp writing utensil nearby to protect himself with. All he had was a cane that Paul had left about two months prior propped up against the side of his nightstand. That would have to do.

Rather than hesitating, Christoph silently moved his arm out from under the covers and reached behind him between the bed and the nightstand to grab the cane. His heart was beating so hard and fast in his chest that he could hear and feel it pulsating in his ears. He even feared that whoever was beside him could hear it, too. Holding his breath for the sake of being as quiet as possible, Christoph grabbed the cane and curled his fingers around it, allowing its weight to fall into the palm of his hand to ready himself for when he potentially swung at whoever was laying next to him.

Christoph looked away from the window to look around the room before doing anything else. His door was still locked, the door to the bathroom was still shut, and all of his belongings were exactly where he had left them when he climbed into bed. All that was different was the curtains to his window, and even then, the window was still shut. He hadn't even been able to open it all winter because of the ice and snowstorms that they got. However this being had gotten into his room was beyond him, but he didn't want to look around for too long before it was too late.

With a sharp inhale, Christoph launched himself out of bed and held the cane out in front of him, gasping sharply through his nose as he planted his feet on the floor and looked at the pale legs of whoever was laying next to him.

"Who are you?" He bellowed as quietly as possible, as to not draw attention to himself or disturb his neighbors, "Who are you and how did you get in here?"

The being in his bed moved, but didn't make a verbal sound otherwise. Christoph wasn't having it.

"Tell me or I'll hurt you! I'm armed!" He shouted.

That was enough to earn the other's attention. With a quiet, startled noise, the being in Christoph's bed sat up and stared at him with wide green eyes, his large hands gripping the blankets and keeping them close to his chest, which was split open in the middle with dried blood around it. To make matters worse, his entire upper half was stained the same shade of red and on top of it sat a net fabric. It was what Christoph had seen in his dream.

Within seconds, Christoph was dropping the cane to the floor with a gasp, only to lose consciousness and fall down with it.


	2. Zwei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christoph for real pisses me off in this story. Why did I do this to him.

## Zwei.

"You are lying. You must be lying, there is no possible way that—"

"It's the truth!" The being insisted, desperation evident in his tone and his eyes pleading. Christoph had regained consciousness after laying on the floor for several minutes, only to nearly black out once again when he woke up to the being hovering over him. Now he was sat on the bed with Christoph's blankets around him and his gaze set on Christoph. "I lived here, in this room!"

"As if someone like you would ever attend Gymnasium," Christoph spat. He narrowed his eyes and glanced the other up and down. "Look at you. You aren't an academic."

"This was Beelitz Hauptschule before it became Beelitz Gymnasium," the being explained, eyelids peeled and words spoken quickly, "After Frau Lindemann died, her son was appointed headmaster, but he negotiated with his superiors that he'd only uphold the title if this would become Gymnasium."

"That is common knowledge and therefore upholds no significant proof of anything. If you want to impress me, riddle me this— How did you come to the conclusion that you have supposedly been dead for an entire decade?" Christoph asked. A look as cold as the air outside glossed over his pupils and left the other frowning and nearly cowering away from him. Christoph couldn't have cared less. He had heard a plethora of excuses and made up stories throughout his time as a professor, so this was no different. It was, however, the first time that it reached this extent. "You cannot possibly expect me to believe you. Not when you've joined me in bed and told me such a ridiculous story."

"I met you in your dreams. I had to warn you I was coming," he said, his voice now much quieter. Glancing around the room, he tapped his fingers anxiously against his own knuckles, which were just as pale and bony as the rest of him was. He had been sickly in his past life, and his last year on Earth hadn't been anything that anyone would've ever predicted. It was the sole reason why he was here now—to stop what was still happening to this day and to find the peace that he never obtained in the afterlife. "I... I was killed by Frau Lindemann and... Doktor Lorenz. They did it to try and save her son... Till."

Christoph went silent within a second of hearing that. Though he had no business whatsoever in the medical field, he had heard of Doktor Lorenz before. Rumors floated around often that he and Herr Till Lindemann had had an ongoing affair for years now, but Christoph never chose to believe anything like that. He didn't know Till well and wasn't looking to judge him based off of what others said in that regard. For this, on the contrary, he wanted to know more.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Christoph furrowed his brows and asked, "And how exactly did they kill you? You need to give me specifics. Thus far, you haven't convinced me of anything other than the fact that you may be a threat to my wellbeing. I'll warn you now— If you don't provide me with an answer that makes any sort of sense, I will be taking matters into my own hands and alerting the guards of your presence and accusations. Things such as this are not taken lightly. If you were even telling the slightest bit of the truth, you would know this."

The being looked frightened as Christoph spoke. The edge and sharp tone to his voice was unlike anything he had ever heard. It didn't make it easier that Christoph spoke so articulately either. Something about how literate and intelligent he was evoked a fear within him. Perhaps it was due to his past with other professors and higher ups within this school and those it employed, or perhaps it was because Christoph was intimidating without the help of anything else. Whatever it may be, the being found it increasingly difficult to maintain his train of thought as he stared at Christoph and attempted to explain himself. 

"Beelitz-Heilstätten opened in 1898 when I was seventeen years old. Many classmates of mine were taken there during the tuberculosis outbreak of 1900... I caught it in 1901 after a man I worked with came down with it and spread it amongst those around him."

"What was your job? What did you do?"

"I was a plasterer. I helped plaster the walls of Beelitz-Heilstätten during my apprenticeship." The being fell quiet. He hung his head down and his gaze was directed towards the hole in the center of his chest. Though it was a gruesome sight to behold, Christoph looked nonetheless. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Christoph had seen his own siblings and a handful of his students acquire serious injuries, but none had ever been as horrid as the one the other man possessed—if he was even a man at all. After a short moment of silence passed, the other spoke again, his voice hushed and gaze away from Christoph's, "Frau Lindemann helped me find the apprenticeship... She also checked me into the hospital when I fell sick. She visited me everyday and she assigned Doktor Lorenz to take care of me. At first, I thought things were going well. I was getting medicine and sleeping, and when I woke up, I couldn't feel much... but then I realized that that was happening because the medicine they gave me purposefully did that so I couldn't feel them taking my blood while I was asleep."

The man extended his arms. In the crooks of his elbows, on the insides of his forearms, and on the backs of his hands were track marks from where needles had been inserted into his veins. Some were faded, whereas others looked like they had been made just hours before. Christoph withheld the shudder that ached to roll down his spine as he examined the marks on the other's body and instead cleared his throat and looked at the deep red shade on his upper half. It faded the further it spread from the center of his chest, but seemed to darken again near his head, which was covered by a helmet for the most part, excluding a portion of his face. Christoph couldn't see much of his features during to the mesh netting clinging to his skin, but he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to see what lay beneath the material. If it was anything as scarring as the rest of him, Christoph was better off left in the dark when it came to knowing the other's physical identity.

Christoph didn't say anything, so the other continued, "Soon enough, I grew immune to the medicines that they gave me. I started waking up whenever they would take blood from me. At first, I couldn't do anything. I was conscious in my mind and I could feel everything that was happening, but I couldn't react physically or verbally. Then I started twitching sometimes. Doktor Lorenz noticed and upped my dosage of medicine, but I never fell back asleep. Once they found out that it didn't work for me anymore, they took my blood while I was awake... and then they started to experiment on me to see what medicines would make me fall asleep, numb any pain I felt, or allow me to forget what was happening."

"Frau Lindemann wouldn't do such a thing," Christoph said below his breath, "She was a kind woman."

"She did it for her son, Till," the man said, "He was dying back then. His heart was failing and he kept getting sick—he had been susceptible to every illness under the sun since childhood. She said it was as if it were in his blood to be nothing but ill. That's why she took my blood. She wanted my blood to replace his so he could feel better and not be sick anymore. She said that even if I was in poor health, it was better than what her son had to deal with."

"That's preposterous!" Christoph claimed with a scoff, an amused, bewildered grin on his lips, "What a fib this is! I can't believe I'm wasting these hours of the night talking to you when I could be sleeping or having the guards come and throw you off campus and into the hands of the police!"

"You can't arrest a dead man."

"Oh, right. Pardon me. I'm very sorry that I forgot that you are supposedly dead."

"I am!" He retorted defensively. He yanked the comforters off of himself and stood from where he sat on the bed. As he rose to his full height, it was Christoph who was then intimidated. Christoph was taller than the majority of his colleagues, Paul and Richard included, yet this man was towering over him. He closed in on Christoph and looked down at him, piercing green eyes staring at him through the diamonds of the mesh. Christoph attempted to appear unfazed, but quickly failed. He stepped back, only to stop in his place when the other spoke again, "Do you know how it feels to have your heart ripped from your chest while you are still alive and breathing? Have you any idea of the torture and pain that I went through for _months_ , solely to be spat back out by the afterlife because I couldn't find peace in knowing that Frau Lindemann's son is alive and well to this day, and allowing these same experiments to be conducted on other people? They stripped me of my blood, my heart, and my sanity... You have no right to tell me what I am and what I am not. Not now, not ever."

Christoph's blue eyes were frozen on the greens of the other, even though he wanted to look away to try and collect his thoughts. To believe what was being said was difficult, but the man wasn't providing him with any other information regarding who he was, what he was doing, and what had happened to him. For all that Christoph knew, this man very well might've been telling the truth.

It was no secret that Till was a very sick man. He struggled with heart issues that affected every other aspect of his health, but he never seemed to get any worse than how he was doing. His mother, the former headmistress of what had been Beelitz Hauptschule before Till had taken her place and made the switch to Gymnasium instead, was very open about her son's poor health and oftentimes used it as a way to motivate others. She would say that despite his fate and how he felt, he pushed through whatever came his way. It influenced many young students as they came and went, and even helped others who were just as sick as Till to go on to accomplish great things. Christoph had admired Frau Lindemann for being such an inspiration to those who came to her for guidance, but his image of her was becoming warped the longer that the man spoke.

Christoph breathed raggedly as he finally regained control of his own body. He looked the other up and down as he swallowed thick in his throat, goosebumps running up and down his arms the more he focused on the man in front of him.

"Who are you?" Christoph asked, his tone unsteady and fearful, " _What_ are you?"

"I'm Oliver Riedel," he said softly, his demeanor changing now that Christoph had backed down some. Nodding, he found Christoph's gaze again and locked his own on it, saying, "I'm Oliver Riedel and I was born on the eleventh of April in 1881 in Schwerin, Deutschland. I attended Beelitz Hauptschule between the ages of twelve and seventeen. From then on, with the help of Frau Lindemann, I went to be an apprentice as a plasterer. Two years later when I was nineteen, I fell sick with tuberculosis and Frau Lindemann personally took me to the hospital so I could be treated for it, only to conduct experiments on me alongside Doktor Lorenz to attempt to use my remaining health to save her son's life." He paused. His left hand raised to feel the outline of the oval on his chest. He flinched slightly as if he still felt discomfort from it, his eyes watering for a moment before he dropped his hand to his side and finished what he was saying, "For months, they tortured me. I died on the twentieth of April in 1901, just a little over a week after my twentieth birthday. After failing to open my skull in hopes to try and take parts of my brain for another experiment, they opted to open my chest instead and take my heart while I was still alive."

Hearing what was being said stole the breath from Christoph's lungs. Tightening his jaw, he nodded once, forcing himself to ask, "What were your last words, Oliver Riedel?"

_"Mein Herz brennt."_

—

Christoph hadn't slept the rest of the evening. Oliver slept plenty, thus allotting Christoph several hours to be with himself and run through his thoughts. Rather than keeping all of the information that Oliver had divulged in his head, he wrote all of it down. It made him sick to his stomach to write in detail what Oliver claimed had been done to him, and it churned even more at the idea of both Lindemanns doing something like this to someone, with the help of Till's supposed lover. Christoph found himself unable to write for several minutes every so often. He was utterly confused and terribly frightened about what had happened overnight. He didn't know what to do or who to turn to, if there was anyone at all. He himself wasn't entirely convinced by Oliver's story, which left him feeling certain that no one else would buy into it either. This left him feeling alone and at the end of a road he didn't even know existed until several hours prior. Whatever he had done to end up in this position, he regretted it. This was the worse capital punishment known to man.

Christoph tried desperately to make sense of what had been said, but he couldn't piece any of it together. It was common knowledge that the current living quarters for the English professors had once housed Hauptschule students and that Till had taken his mother's title once she had passed, so none of that stuck out to Christoph as information that not everyone knew. However, hearing that Doktor Lorenz played a part in what had allegedly happened took Christoph by surprise. He only ever heard his name being mumbled when it followed Till's because of their affair. His profession was hardly spoken of, nor was his existence unless to had anything to do with whether or not he was sleeping with Till. Christoph underlined that bit of information on the sheet of paper as to not lose it when he ran over what he had wrote later in the day.

For what seemed like a century, Christoph stared at what he had written down about Oliver himself. The list wasn't long by any means, but it was enough for him to get a basis of who he was. 

_Name: Riedel, Oliver  
DOB: 11.04.1881.  
Birthplace: Schwerin, Deutschland  
DOD: 20.04.1901.  
Resting place: Beelitz, Deutschland  
Cause of Death: Organ extracted from body. Blood loss. Tuberculosis complications.  
Race: White  
Eye color: Green  
Hair color: Unknown  
Height: 200 cm.  
Weight: 85~ kg.  
Education: Attended Beelitz Hauptschule between the ages of twelve and seventeen—1893 to 1898. Apprenticeship between the ages of seventeen and nineteen— 1898 to 1900._

Christoph's hands threaded through his hair as he sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps this was all a dream. Maybe he was still sleeping and had slipped too far into the dream realm to truly wake up from his slumber. Christoph felt ridiculous trying to convince himself of such a ludicrous thing, but nothing felt real that morning. At that point, the possibility of him experiencing a hyper-realistic dream was something he'd rather be faced with.

Over his shoulder, he peered at Oliver as he slept. His upper half was still red and he still wore his helmet and net top. Christoph wondered how he acquired such clothing. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. He knew little of the afterlife, seeing as he wasn't a very religious man, but he doubted that such attire was common there. Furrowing his brows, he let his gaze sweep over the other man as a frown tugged at his lips.

The man was odd. Was he even a man? Christoph didn't know. He didn't know what to call Oliver other than his name. That is, if he wasn't lying about it and all that he had told him. It would be difficult to prove that Oliver was who he said he was, let alone that what he endured had actually happened. Christoph was at a crossroads. His heart was telling him to help the poor man and his mind was telling him to run in the other direction, far away from any potential danger. He didn't know which to listen to. Many times before now, his heart hadn't said much about positions that he was stuck in. Why it was different now, he didn't know, but that was something that he could address at a later time. There were bigger problems on his hands.

Pushing himself away from his desk, Christoph grabbed his papers and slipped them into his satchel. He couldn't very well teach his classes that day as shaken up as he was. Granted, there were only two of them, but a colleague of his could fill in for him. It wasn't often that Christoph allowed others to take on his classes for him, but he opted to see it as payback for the favors he lent them. He had filled in for a handful of professors more times than he could count. He could afford to miss a single day.

Covering Oliver up with the comforters as to not let him be seen when he opened his door, Christoph sighed heavily and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. It was hard to believe that he was sacrificing an entire day of teaching for a man that had suddenly joined him in bed, and was still in bed, and claimed that he had been killed by the former headmaster and the current one's closet lover. His head ached from the amount of thinking he had done, how exhausted he felt, and from when he had lost consciousness earlier in the evening, but he shook it off. He would bring his attention back to it once he figured out what he was going to do.

First, he had to find another professor to substitute for him for the day. He slipped out of his room, still dressed in his pajamas, and looked down the hall. With it being the early morning hours, someone would surely walk by at any moment to tend to their morning classes. Christoph wasn't a fan of teaching this early in the day, but it had to be done some days. Today, however, was not the day.

As he turned to his left, he saw his neighbor leaving his room. The two made eye contact and the other immediately widened his eyes and looked Christoph up and down.

"Herr Schneider," he said before clearing his throat. He couldn't help but eye Christoph's choice of clothing. It was odd to see him out of his formal attire. Not only that, but Christoph looked nothing like himself. "My God, you look like you've seen a ghost."

 _'I think I might have,'_ Christoph wanted to say.

"Are you feeling alright? Don't tell me you've got that winter bug going around."

"I'm not sure..." Christoph said instead. He cleared the dry itch from his throat as he pursed his lips together and shook his head. "I... passed out last night as I was getting out of the bathroom and I haven't felt right since. I was afraid to sleep, so I was up all night."

"Do you need me to call a nurse? I'm sure Herr Lindemann can find one for you."

"No," Christoph answered quickly. The sudden reaction took the other professor off guard, as shown by the surprised expression on his face. Christoph immediately tensed up and backtracked, "I mean... No. It's quite alright. I was just hoping to find someone who could fill in for me today."

"Oh... Well... What times are your classes?"

"At eight, I have an introduction to poetry class. At nine thirty is my regular literature class."

"I can pick up those classes for you. Do you have any specific notes to give me?"

"They should be in the classrooms already. I always lay my notes out in the topmost right hand cabinet of the desk in whichever lecture hall I'm scheduled to teach in the following day."

The look of surprise faded into one of shock. Christoph was a very organized man and had a way of doing things that not many others could replicate.

"Huh. Well, you're a very laid out man, hm?" His colleague offered a small smile before nodding. "But, yes. I'll fill in for you. If you get worse, I advise you see a nurse or alert Herr Lindemann of how you feel. I heard that if a dozen more students come down with whatever is making its way around, they're going to start putting people into quarantine."

Christoph had to withhold himself from rolling his eyes. They were supposed to be professionals. Why on Earth were they spreading such stories around? Never in the school's history had they done such a thing, even when tuberculosis ran rampant a decade earlier. Though it was still common for a student to fall victim to that particular illness, it didn't require any segregation from other students or patients in the hospital. If they could still do their work, they could attend class, if they so chose to. If not, they'd stay in the hospital amongst other sick patients.

"I will," Christoph said, solely to bring an end to the conversation that he had unknowingly flung himself into, "Thank you. I appreciate this very much. If you ever need anything, don’t be hesitant to ask. I'm just a door away."

The fellow literature professor nodded with a smile and exchanged more information with Christoph regarding where his classes would be held before walking off to start his day. Christoph stood outside his door to watch him leave, sighing to himself once he was out of sight. He didn't mind the other—he was just tired.

Christoph retreated to his room and shut and locked the door behind him. He looked over at the bed and saw Oliver sleeping peacefully on it. Without making any expression whatsoever, Christoph began wondering how and why he was so tired. Did he not sleep in the afterlife? Had he just been awake for years upon years without any reprieve? Christoph didn't know. He wasn't sure if he wanted to either. Sighing, he brought his hands up to his eyes to rub over them as they burned. They were dry and fatigued. Having irritated eyes was one of the things that Christoph hated the most. Not only did they itch, but they watered up so frequently that he could hardly see past a certain point.

Without a doubt, he needed more rest before he continued working on the task at hand. Though he knew that something like this couldn't wait, he also knew that he'd be much more focused if he had a few hours of sleep under his belt. It might also relieve him of the headache he had been battling since waking up from his sudden black out earlier.

Christoph pried himself off the door and walked over to his bed. He was hesitant to lay down, seeing as Oliver was in his bed and he wasn't used to sharing a bed with anyone, but the ache of his bones and the burn in his eyes begged him to. He grimaced as he first sat down on the bed, then groaned when he moved to lay down. The comforters were deceivingly warm and the pillows felt like clouds. Next to him, Oliver radiated heat, which only lured Christoph closer to an inevitable slumber.

Within seconds, Christoph was asleep, his limbs spread out and head angled back against his pillow.


	3. Drei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christoph is fine until the end. Big meanie.

## Drei.

Oliver sat in the bathtub with wide eyes and soap running down the sides of his face. Off to the side, his attire lay on the floor—the skirt, the leather cuffs over his forearms, the mesh top, and the helmet. The water was warm around his body, engulfing him in a wave of comfort that he hadn't felt since he was a young boy, hiding in his parents' embrace to save himself from the terrifying sounds of a raging thunderstorm outside his window. He wished to be as naive as he was back then—when he thought that storms were the scariest things known to man. Perhaps what he went through was punishment for being so foolish as a child. Oliver didn't know for sure and he figured he never would. Being stuck in the gray between reality and the afterlife for a decade hadn't given him any sort of answers or reasoning as to why things turned out how they did. Then again, it also never told him why he was being thrusted back into reality again after being dead for so long, but he didn't expect to learn about that either once he returned.

The thought of going back made him shudder. He didn't want to leave Earth anymore. While he was being experimented on and used as nothing but a stuck pig, he prayed that each night would be his last. God never seemed to listen to Oliver, even when he yelled out to Him and begged Him to take him and end his life. Oliver supposed that God didn't grant such wishes to people like him—to people that weren't as well off financially and intellectually as people like Christoph seemed to be. He didn't want to think about Christoph being in his position. He didn't want to think about anyone having to endure what he went through. Though he was no longer living, he carried his trauma with him everywhere he went. No matter how many times he sunk himself as far into the gray as possible, he always found himself paralyzed at the thought of what had happened to him. Without a doubt, it was what kept him from resting in eternal peace.

Oliver missed living. He missed waking up and seek the sunrise. He longed to feel grass against his fingertips as he laid in the field behind his house and looked up at the clouds as they passed overhead. He yearned to do something other than run around and beg to be let out into the world, sent to Heaven, or condemned to Hell. Anything was better than what he called the gray—the area between the afterlife and reality. Oliver could no longer be face to face with the horrors that lingered there. He learned the hard way that he couldn't be hurt when others came to attack him whilst in the gray, but that didn't mean that he couldn't feel fear. He always did. Every waking moment, Oliver was absolutely terrified of what would come next. He couldn't control a single thing in the gray. It nearly drove him to insanity.

Now he was back where he started. He was in a room that was no longer his. The school had been changed to another type of education and another man had come to live in his room. Christoph seemed to be a very stressed person, but Oliver couldn't blame him. Oliver had felt his arrival coming and tried to warn Christoph the night before by appearing in his dreams, but they proved to not be enough. He wanted to make a proper introduction when he was shoved out of the gray and forced onto Earth again, but before he knew it, he was falling asleep when he moved to take one step towards Christoph. After not having any real rest for a decade, he was quite tired. A few hours of sleep was well deserved at that point.

Oliver was still tired as he sat in the bathtub. As Christoph poured a bucket of water over his head, he shut his eyes and sank further into the water. With a soft groan filtering past his thin lips, Oliver leaned back against the rim of the bathtub and prepared himself to fall asleep again.

"Stay awake, Oliver," Christoph protested, "I have to get all of this blood off of you."

"But I'm tired," Oliver mumbled, whining softly, "I haven't slept in years."

"I can see that. I can also see that you haven't bathed in a while either."

"There is nothing in the gray," Oliver told him. He cooperated as Christoph reached out and sat him upright to pour water over his head again, his hands then moving to rake through Oliver's hair and scrub the hardened blood off of his scalp. It hurt a bit, but it wasn't anything like what Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz had put him through. Nudging into Christoph's touch occasionally, he expanded on what he initially said, "No concrete timeline, no aging, no pain, no dying... Your body doesn't change, but your mind does. I think your spirit does as well. You can't eat or sleep or drink anything, because there's nothing. It's just... just..."

"Gray?" Christoph finished for him.

"Yeah... Gray. It's all gray." Oliver frowned and looked up at Christoph. Coincidentally, Christoph was already looking down at him. Oliver shook his head slowly, his gaze suddenly pleading and broken. "I... I don't want to go back. I want to stay here forever."

Christoph scoffed halfheartedly. He was still conflicted on whether or not Oliver was telling the truth, but it was obvious that wherever he had come from, it was far from suitable for anyone who came across it. He felt sympathetic for Oliver. He was a young man with some sort of past behind him and an enormous amount of trauma stuck in his head. Christoph had been through things of his own, but he doubted that any of it even came close to what Oliver had gone through. Even if the story about Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz turned out to be a lie, there was undoubtedly something going on in Oliver's mind to make him believe that something like that actually happened.

"You don't want to stay here forever," Christoph told him through a mumble, "Earth isn't special."

"Earth is the best place I've ever been," Oliver insisted, "The last few months weren't great, but I liked the rest of my time here."

"Is that so?"

"It is. My parents and I were close. They were young when they had me. They're still young now, I bet."

"You were born five years after me, which means that if you were alive today, you would be twenty-nine. How old would that make them?"

As Oliver thought, Christoph shielded his eyes and poured more water over his head. The blood was coming off slowly but surely, but in the process, it was exposing the ungodly amount of scars that Oliver had all over his body. Christoph tried not to look at the hole in the center of his chest, but failed in doing so. Oliver didn't seem to breathe or have any sort of pulse, but Christoph wondered if that was truly the case or if he was simply imagining it. Christoph quickly brushed it off every time it came to mind and focused on something else, which happened to be whichever new scar he unearthed by giving Oliver the first bath that he had had in a decade.

"They would be forty-five," said Oliver, "I wonder if they're still alive."

"If you remember their names, I'm sure a friend of mine could find them. He's been able to obtain information on those who have passed before."

Christoph hadn't realized what he said. However, Oliver had.

"Your friend can find my records, then," he said softly, "That can prove that I'm dead."

Christoph stopped what he was doing and looked down at Oliver. Their eyes met again and he frowned. It would take quite a bit for him to believe that Oliver was truly not living, but perhaps solid evidence such as that would make it easier for him.

"Alright. We'll pay a visit to my friend, then," Christoph decided, "But not until I get you cleaned. I also need to find clothes for you as well. I forbid you from wearing that hideous outfit that you came here wearing."

Oliver furrowed his brows and frowned at him. "I couldn't very well be naked in the gray. I needed clothing."

"Where did you acquire it?"

"I stole it."

"Ah, so the gray truly is a lawless land."

"It's a land of the dead and undead. No laws exist there."

"Ah," Christoph mused. Nodding, he brought the washcloth to Oliver's cheeks and began scrubbing them with soap to rid them of the blood. Oliver made a noise of discomfort and shifted where he was, but allowed Christoph to clean him nonetheless. Once Oliver closed his eyes, Christoph looked over his features as he uncovered them and sighed. "You're young... I can tell just by looking at you."

"You never told me your name," Oliver deflected.

"What's that got to do with what I said?"

"Nothing. It was simply a statement. You never told me your name."

Christoph raised his brows questionably at the younger male before sighing. "Christoph Schneider, but around campus, I am addressed as Herr Schneider. I teach literature."

Peaking one eye open, Oliver looked at him and hummed. "Okay, Herr Christoph Schneider. It's a pleasure to meet you."

With a splash of water, Oliver brought his hand out from the tub and extended it to Christoph. Christoph first scowled at the amount of water that had gone onto the floor, but quickly wiped it off his face when he noticed Oliver eyeing him. His hands were already dirty, which gave him no reason to not shake the other's hand. He didn't know what it was, but officially becoming acquaintances with someone who claimed to be dead wasn't something he wasn't too gung ho on doing. 

"Likewise," he said through a mumble. Oliver offered a small smile before retracting his hand from Christoph's and lowering it back into the water. Christoph huffed out a sigh through his nose and looked Oliver once more. "Alright, now... Stay still. We still have a long way to go. We cannot possibly walk you around campus looking like this."

Nodding, Oliver went still and allowed Christoph to continue washing him, watching as the blood that had stained his skin for years dripped off into the bath.

—

"Schneider... This is not an artifact. This is a man," Paul had said.

"You weren't going to see me if I brought a man with me. Am I wrong?" Christoph retorted.

Paul then rolled his eyes at Christoph. Christoph had hurriedly rushed up to Paul after his history course over the Roman Empire had ended, explaining to him that he needed to see him later on in the evening to discuss an artifact that Christoph had come across in one of his chests. Paul, who had been very excited and enthralled that Christoph supposedly possessed something that could've captured his interest, instructed him to stop by his room at seven in the evening with said artifact with him so he could judge it for himself.

What Christoph had brought, however, was a tall, skinny man, wearing clothes that were a size or two too small for him. Messy locks sat on top of his head and covered the scars that surrounded his hairline. His hair hadn't been washed in years due to the conditions within the gray. Christoph had to wash it four times before it finally was soft to the touch and looked presentable. In the process, he had to empty and refill the bathtub several times to wash away the amount of dirt, sweat, and blood that he scrubbed off of Oliver. By the time that he was done, Oliver was as clean as ever and looked more human than he had since before he was ushered into the hospital by Frau Lindemann an entire decade ago—save for the gaping hole in his chest, that is.

Now Oliver was sat on the edge of Paul's bed and looking up with him with bright green eyes. Paul looked down at him and knitted his brows together as his hand came up to cup his chin and stroke it between his index finger and thumb.

"So you're... dead?" Paul mused. He was trying to wrap his head around the information that he was provided by both Christoph and Oliver, but nothing was working. "How are you here if you're dead?"

"Well... I never went to Heaven or Hell. I didn't even really go to an afterlife. I was stuck in the middle. Then I just got... thrown out of it."

"The middle?"

"I call it the gray, because that's what it is. Everything is gray and bland, but terrifying and barren. There's absolutely nothing there but other souls that left Earth and didn't reach the afterlife."

"Why didn't you reach the afterlife?"

"I didn't find eternal peace. I was killed."

"Who killed you?"

"Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz. I was checked into Beelitz-Heilstätten in 1901 for tuberculosis and she assigned Doktor Lorenz as my doctor. From then on, they conducted experiments on me and took my blood to give it to her son, Till. She said that even though I was sick that my blood was still healthier than his and it was what she needed to save his life. When that didn't work and his health deteriorated, they took my heart from me... probably to give it to Till if he ever needed it."

Paul shot his brows up and asked, "Okay, then. How did they take your heart?"

Oliver looked to Christoph, as if asking for permission to lift up the shirt he was wearing to show the wound to Paul. Christoph was confused for a moment before he caught onto what Oliver was doing, then offered him a nod and a small gesture of his hand.

As Paul witnessed the exchange, Oliver sat up straight and grabbed the hem of the shirt that he was wearing. It was one of Christoph's. It fit him just barely. The material wasn't tight by any means. Rather, it was too short for his lengthy torso. It didn't accommodate his sharp, broad shoulders either.

Raising his shirt, Oliver bared the wound to Paul. Immediately, Paul groaned in disgust and scowled from the sight, but wasn't shy when he went down to his knees to get a better look at it. Christoph watched in astonishment. He couldn't understand how Paul was so fearless of a sight such as that. Whilst he bathed Oliver, he looked everywhere but his chest, simply because he couldn't stand looking at it. Paul, however, was studying it intensely and humming between quiet murmurs that stated what he was observing.

"Does it hurt?" Paul asked, tearing his gaze away from Oliver's chest to look up at him.

Oliver shook his head. "Not anymore. It did at first."

"When did it stop hurting?"

"I'm not sure. Time was abstract in the gray."

Paul mused quietly to himself from the response. While he was interested, he wasn't entirely convinced, even if the proof was right in front of him. Rather than touching the wound like he wanted to, he rose to his feet again and looked at Christoph. He sighed through his nose as he placed his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"Well, Schneider, this is not my area of expertise. I teach history. Just because I do that, it doesn't mean that I know how to handle dead bodies... Or, rather, dead men... who are no longer dead, as he says he is." Paul spared a glance to Oliver and smiled briefly at him before turning to Christoph and wiping the grin from his face. "Have you taken his vitals?"

"Well... No."

Paul scoffed. "You're not as smart as you seem, Schneider. It's okay, I always knew I was more intelligent than you."

As Paul snickered, Christoph glared at him with a screwed shut jaw. Paul stepped away from him to pace across his room and open the door to his bathroom. He didn't hold a degree in any sort of medical field, but he did know the basics. He was rather rambunctious as a child and found himself visiting the doctor more often than not. Naturally, he caught onto what they were doing and learned for himself. Once he grew to be older, he checked out several books from the library from time to time to see how to do the simplest of things for wounds, injuries, head trauma, and some of the more serious occurrences such as a heart attack or a stroke. Needless to say, Paul had only a slight idea of what he was dealing with, but it was better than what Christoph had to offer, which was practically nothing.

"Will this hurt?" Oliver asked Christoph. When Christoph looked down at him, he could see a look of pure terror etched across Oliver's features. He frowned as a wave of sadness washed over him. "I... I don't like doctors anymore. Please don't let him hurt me."

"He's not going to hurt you," Christoph said softly. Kneeling down in front of Oliver, he rested his hands on his knees and gave them a comforting squeeze. "I promise he won't. Paul knows what he's doing."

"So did Doktor Lorenz and Frau Lindemann," Oliver whimpered, "Please, Christoph, I don't want to be hurt anymore."

"Oliver, he won't hurt you," he said again, his voice a bit firmer now. Locking his eyes on Oliver, he nodded with his statement, "It won't hurt. I promise you."

Oliver still looked doubtful, but he nodded nonetheless. Rather than moving, Christoph stayed where he was as Paul returned from the bathroom with a couple of medical instruments in his hands. Oliver tensed beneath Christoph's palms when he saw everything, but eased back down against the mattress gradually when Christoph squeezed his knees again and brushed his thumbs over his skin. Paul disregarded their positioning and popped the stethoscope into his ears as he sat down next to Oliver on the bed.

"Alright, Oliver. I'm going to have you breathe normally for me," Paul said.

"I... don't breathe," Oliver whispered.

"Okay, then don't breathe. That'll work, too."

Though Paul was unsettled from Oliver's statement, he continued with what he was doing. He pressed the end of the stethoscope to the younger man's chest and listened intently, focusing as hard as he could on any noises that his body made.

Paul heard nothing. He didn't hear a heartbeat. He didn't hear any blood flowing in his veins. He didn't hear any movement of any organs. On top of that, he didn't hear Oliver breathing either.

The look that had fallen across his face without him realizing startled Christoph.

"Paul? Paul, what is it?" He asked, attempting to calm himself before he could go into a frenzy, "What do you hear?"

"N... Nothing," Paul whispered. His gray eyes widened to the size of saucers and a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed thickly and backed away from Oliver as he took the stethoscope out of his ears. "H– Here, you try it."

"What? No!"

"Christoph Schneider, if you don't try this, I am going to have a heart attack and die, right here, right now!" Paul yelled. Christoph mirrored Paul's expression and fumbled for the medical tool when it was thrown at him. "Just– Just take it and listen. I need to step outside."

Before Christoph could stop Paul, Paul was scrambling off of the bed and lunging for the door. He yanked it open with a gasp and shut it with a loud slam that made both Christoph and Oliver flinch. Christoph looked down at the instrument in his hands before slowly bringing his gaze up to meet Oliver's. He noticed the fear and guilt in his eyes and frowned a second time.

"Don't pay him any mind," Christoph told Oliver, "He's... different."

"He's scared of me. So are you," Oliver whispered, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm really here for, I just—"

"Shh." Reaching up, Christoph tenderly pressed his finger to Oliver's lips. Oliver shut his mouth and gave Christoph a look of sadness, to which Christoph shook his head and said, "It's okay. You don't have anything to worry about. If he chooses not to help, I'll take matters into my own hands. Everything will be alright, Ollie. May I call you that?"

It took Oliver a second to respond. Once he did, he nodded and Christoph moved his finger away from his lips. "You can call me that. I don't mind."

Christoph smiled warmly. "Great. You can call me Schneider, if you'd like. It's what Paul and our friend Richard address me as."

"Does anyone else call you that?"

"No. Only friends."

"We're friends?"

"If you'd like to be." Christoph moved to join Oliver on the bed, just as Paul had. "Now... I'm going to take this stethoscope and do the same thing that Paul did. Is that okay with you?"

Oliver nodded. He looked Christoph over and swallowed hard. He could trust Christoph. He wouldn't hurt him. He hadn't thus far, even when he woke up to Oliver in his bed and dressed in what seemed to be wartime attire. In addition to that, Oliver had also been covered in blood. It was a mystery to him why Christoph hadn't attacked him the moment he saw him, but he supposed it was a mystery that he'd never understand.

Christoph repeated Paul's actions with the stethoscope and pressed it against multiple areas of Oliver's chest. He attempted to prepare himself for whatever he was going to be faced with, but he quickly concluded that no amount of preparation, no matter how extensive it was, could ever save him from the shock that he was met with when it came to Oliver.

Paul had been right. There was absolutely nothing to be heard inside of Oliver's body. Christoph nearly began begging God to give Oliver a heartbeat somehow so he could regain the proper pulsation of his own, but he knew that God was turning a blind eye to what he was experiencing in this moment. No deity would ever dream of being involved in a scheme such as this. With that becoming evident, Christoph felt more lost and confused than ever. It didn't help that he was also frightened and shook to the core.

Christoph moved the stethoscope to Oliver's back and again, he heard nothing. There was nothing functioning within Oliver's body. Maybe all of his blood truly had been taken by Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz, along with his heart.

Christoph shuddered visibly and removed the stethoscope from his ears. For not only Oliver's sake, but for his own as well, Christoph remained as calm as possible. He knew well that the moment that he lost control of his thought process and emotions that things would derail and spiral out of control—if he had any control over the things that he was currently faced with to begin with.

"I... I'm going to feel for a pulse," Christoph explained to Oliver. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers for the other's wrist. "It won't hurt. I just need to feel along your forearm."

Oliver surrendered his scarred wrist to Christoph, but not without flinching when Christoph went to press his fingers into his skin. He made a soft noise behind closed lips and watched intently as Christoph adjusted his fingers accordingly and felt for anything at all.

Just as it had been in Oliver's upper half, there was nothing to count or observe. The veins of the living would pulsate when pressed on, but Oliver's veins were cold and motionless. Christoph's breathing became shallow and quick as he retracted his fingers from Oliver's wrist and reached up to press them along his neck instead. Oliver craned his head to the side to offer more skin to him, but it didn't aid Christoph in his quest to find some sort of pulse from him.

Oliver was dead. He didn't have any reason to breathe. He didn't have blood flowing within him. He didn't a heart rate, heartbeat, or a pulse. Oliver had been telling the truth.

"I think... I think I'm about to black out again," Christoph said as his hand fell to the bed, "This can't be, it's not– It's not possible."

"I'm sorry," Oliver whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Christoph felt himself losing touch with reality, but was quickly snapped back into it by Paul reentering the room. He spoke to himself under his breath in incomprehensible mumbles as he grabbed the flashlight that he had brought out with the stethoscope.

"Sit up straight and lift your shirt up again," he demanded in regard to Oliver, "I need to check something."

Oliver did as he was told and kept his back as straight as a rod with his shirt raised as Paul leaned in and turned the flashlight on. In the same bold fashion that he examined the open wound just minutes before, he leaned in and directed the light from the flashlight into it.

From different angles, he made note of what he could and couldn't see within Oliver's exposed chest cavity. His lungs were still in tact, as were most of his muscles, but what was missing was his heart. It was directly where the hole was. With torsions on the muscles, veins, and arteries that once lead into his heart, Paul couldn't even begin to imagine the pain that Oliver had gone through. Upon further inspection, he also noted that those same things that used to travel into his heart were clipped messily and torn in many areas. He couldn't be certain, but he was almost positive that after some cutting had been done to loosen his heart up, it had quite literally been ripped from his chest.

"You're dead," Paul said, still peering into Oliver's empty chest, "Your heart is gone."

"Let me see," Christoph forced himself to say. 

Crouching down beside Paul, he held his breath as he looked into Oliver's chest. As if the wound itself wasn't enough, seeing the vacancy within Oliver's body sealed the deal for him. Christoph was now fully convinced that this man was dead.

"I can't believe you brought a fucking corpse to me," Paul mumbled to Christoph. He turned the light off and faced Christoph with a shake of his head. "I can't believe you. I really can't."

"I didn't know what else to do or who else to go to," Christoph said through a whisper, "But you _have_ to help us. We need Oliver's medical records."

"Why? He's dead. Isn't that all you need to know?"

"That's why I needed them at first, but now I think I'll be able to use them to see what all happened to him in the hospital."

"I doubt they wrote it all down," Paul scoffed. Standing up with a groan and a crack of his joints, he shook his head and laughed humorlessly. "What makes you think I want to help anyway? I'm not sure, but there has to be some sort of law that forbids us from doing something like this."

"I don't think so," Oliver chimed in, "Why would there be?"

"He has a point," Christoph said, "Nonetheless, Paul. We need your help. Once we have his medical records, him and I will take the next steps towards whatever it is we need to do to send him to the afterlife—the _real_ afterlife."

"Do you realize how crazy you sound?!" Paul asked through a loud laugh, "You, the renowned Herr Christoph Schneider, are helping a _ghost_ with finding his way back to the afterlife!"

"Would you _shut up_?" Christoph hissed. Grabbing the back of Paul's neck with one hand and slapping the other across his mouth, Christoph leaned in and glared at him. "You screaming won't help our case any. Now, you can either help us obtain his medical records or you can visit me in jail when I inevitably end up there. Which would you prefer?"

"Jail," Paul said behind Christoph's hand.

"Well, too bad. You're helping us." Christoph released Paul with a sharp exhale through his nose. He flattened his palms against himself and ran them down the front of his body to straighten out his clothes. "Now. You fetch his medical records tomorrow and we'll reconvene then."

Though Paul was conflicted as to whether or not he wanted to partake in whatever Christoph had managed to land himself in, he couldn't lie to himself and say that he wasn't intrigued. On his bed sat a dead man, who was somehow able to communicate with them and had a solid, physical body. The history fanatic in him was itching to know more about the early days of the hospital when it had just opened and a part of him was also curious to learn more about Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz, mostly because he knew the latter since they shared a few classes back when they were younger and attended the same school.

Sighing heavily, Paul shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hands, saying, "Fine. Tomorrow, I'll have the records and everything else. I'll just come to your room so you don't have to drag him here."

"Fair enough. Does five o'clock work?"

"Five is fine. Now get out of here so I can have a mental breakdown before I plan my lesson for tomorrow. I think I might center it around Egyptians and how they used to lay their loved ones to rest."

From the bed, Oliver chuckled and smiled softly. Paul's joke was funny, even if Christoph thought it was in poor taste. Oliver's approval earned a small grin from Paul, who then turned to Schneider and nudged him with his elbow.

"At least somebody appreciates my humor," he said.

"He's been dead for a decade. Slipping on a banana peel would be hysterical to him," Christoph said, clearly unamused.

"Geez. With an attitude like that, one could mistake you for being the dead man."

Again, Oliver laughed. He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the noise as Christoph looked over at him with a disapproving stare, one that he usually only gave his students. The same gaze was directed to Paul after, since he spoke again.

"Alright, I'm done. Get out of here. If I laugh anymore, I'm going to start crying."

"Bully for you. Let's go, Ollie." Waving Oliver along, Christoph started for the door. Behind him, Paul was mumbling something to Oliver about Christoph's lack of a sense of humor. Christoph shook his head and exhaled sharply through his nose for a second time, his hand resting on the doorknob as he turned to face Paul again. "You'll have plenty of time to talk ill about me with Oliver tomorrow, Paul. I suggest for now, you actually do your job, which would be preparing a lesson for your students who have worked tirelessly to get to this point in their education. It would be a shame for someone else to view spending time with you as a waste."

His remark had shot Paul down quicker than anything else. Paul frowned at Christoph, but it was promptly ignored as Christoph exited the room, holding the door open for Oliver to follow behind him. Oliver and Paul shared a glance before Oliver ducked his head and followed Christoph out the door, waving to Paul just before it shut.


	4. Vier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christoph is ok in this chapter.

## Vier.

"How was class?"

"Fine, just as it is everyday."

"You didn't go yesterday."

"Because I had to tend to you. It's a rarity for me to find someone to fill in for me. I teach when I'm sick, when I haven't slept, and when I'm buried in work. It's what my students expect of me and it's what I expect of myself."

Oliver frowned upon hearing that. He felt like a burden. Though he knew from the start that he would be interfering with Christoph's life, he didn't know how it would make him feel. Christoph was a very professional man who had standards for everyone and everything, but most importantly himself. If he didn't reach them, he'd feel like a failure and become frustrated. Oliver never meant to throw a wrench in Christoph's life, but for the past decade, he never meant to do much of anything. Everything happened by a sick twist of fate that he had never once asked for.

Swirling his spoon around in the soup that Christoph had brought for him from when he had had lunch, Oliver didn't say anything. He wasn't hungry. He had no desire or need to eat or drink, but he didn't want to tell Christoph that. His plan was to toss the soup into the waste bin when Christoph wasn't paying attention or had walked into the bathroom. Until then, he'd continue fooling around with the liquid.

Christoph eyed him curiously from across the desk, which he had pushed out towards the bed. Oliver sat on the bed with his elbows on the desk, something that Christoph wanted to scold him for, but didn't, and Christoph sat on the opposite side of the desk in his wooden chair. Oliver acted like a typical twenty year old man. He was still unsure of many things and was immature in certain ways, but he still had his head on straight and was capable of making decisions for himself. However, it was evident that he was traumatized beyond repair. He was wary of many things and withdrawn at times, as if he was hiding within himself to steer clear of the dangers in the world. Christoph couldn't blame him. Had he gone through what Oliver had, he would've acted the same way.

"Tell me about you," Christoph said to break the silence that had fallen over them for a moment. Oliver blinked in confusion and lowered his spoon into the soup, taken aback by the question. "Tell me about your life before you became sick. That's all you've mentioned thus far."

"Oh." Straightening up, Oliver lowered his hands to his thighs and thought for a moment. He didn't know where to start. He didn't have many friends when he was alive, mostly because he was shy. He was very quiet as a child, to the point of where a few teachers of his had asked his parents if he was mute. Oliver wasn't. It was only an effect of the anxiety that he felt towards most everything. "Well... I don't know where to start."

"Tell me about your family. You said your parents are young, yes?"

"Yes. They were sixteen when I was born. We were very close when I was growing up because of how young they were. They never had any other children except for me. I was an only child."

Christoph smiled and laughed softly. "I wish I had been an only child. I have five siblings."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Really? Five?"

"Five, yes. My parents weren't very young when they started having us, so I supposed they had as many as they could before time ran out."

"It makes sense. Six is better than one."

"Why's that?"

"Because if you have six children and one dies, you have five left. If you only have one child and they die... You don't have any left."

Oliver lowered his gaze as he spoke and his head was short to follow. A frown tugged at his lips as he curled his fingers into the material of the pajama pants that Christoph had lent him. Though the physical pain that he had gone through faded with time, the pain of leaving his parents behind without saying goodbye never did. For years, it was almost all that he had thought about. He didn't want his parents to see him during his final moments. He didn't want his mother to see him in pain and he didn't want his father to attempt to sacrifice himself for his son. Oliver knew that he would try to do so. Oliver had once almost been hit by another child in a fight, but before anything could happen, his father rushed over and jumped in front of Oliver. He took the hit instead of his son, then dealt with the situation himself after.

There was no doubt in his mind that his father would personally take revenge on Doktor Lorenz and Frau Lindemann, if she were still alive. His father loved him very much, as did his mother. They shared many tender moments with one another until Oliver left home to attend Hauptschule. They would visit on occasion, but since they were never terribly well off, they didn't have the extra money set aside to come and see him. Oliver understood and never held it against them. They had given him everything of theirs while they were still young. They put their lives on hold to raise him and make sure that he was given a loving home and an education. They didn't have to do such a thing, but they did regardless. Oliver would forever be indebted to them.

"We can find your parents, if you'd like to," Christoph proposed, speaking through a whisper, as to not upset Oliver, "Do you know whether or not they were alerted of your death?"

"They had a funeral for me," Oliver said. His voice was soft, almost distant. Christoph couldn't see his full gaze, but from what he could see, Oliver's eyes reflected an indescribable amount of emptiness and longing. "My mother cried and threw herself onto my grave. She was only allowed to see my face when they presented me to her and my father in Beelitz-Heilstätten. They never saw the wounds on my arms and chest, and they made sure that my hair was covering my forehead so that the scars there wouldn't be visible either. They told them I died from tuberculosis after fighting it off for a month... What happened after that, I'm not sure." Oliver tightened his jaw and raised his arm to rest his elbow on the desk again. He then placed his cheek against his fist, his eyes still away from Christoph. "I suppose they only allot you a certain amount of time once you've passed to see how your loved ones react. It felt like it all happened within five seconds. I tried to run to her... I tried to yell for my father. They couldn't see or hear me, though. Then it just... disappeared. They were gone and I never saw them again."

Christoph could hardly comprehend the sadness that he felt in that moment as Oliver spoke. He never thought much of the afterlife and what all it entailed, but based on Oliver's experience, he wasn't looking toward to it. Something like that only happened once in a blue moon, he figured, but it did provide him an insight as to how things could turn out. 

"I'm sure they still love you very much, Ollie," Christoph said softly, "They're your parents. Parents never stop loving their children, even after they've passed. A part of me thinks that once that happens, they somehow cherish you even more. They dedicate their time and hearts to you and the memories they have of you. You're their son... Their only son. While it may hurt to be without you now, I'm sure that they still smile when they think of you."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do, Oliver. I do."

Extending his arm across the table, Christoph curled his fingers around Oliver's wrist to give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Oliver met his gaze and bit his lower lip softly, moving his cheek off of his fist. 

Never did he think about things in this way. He knew that his parents missed him and mourned for him, but he didn't know if they were truly happy without him around anymore. He wasn't happy without them. He figured that he never would be. All of him wanted to see them again, but he figured that if he did that, he'd never want to leave. Though he knew not of what all his time on Earth entailed, he was certain that he wouldn't be able to stay around forever. Maybe one day, he and his parents would meet in the afterlife. Not the gray, but somewhere like Heaven, if there was one. Oliver didn't care where they ended up, as long as they were together and far away from anything that could harm them.

Christoph's skin was warm in contrast to Oliver's. Oliver was cold all over, but not unbearably so. Without any sort of blood flow in his body, it was only natural that he be rather chilly to the touch. Christoph didn't mind, however. It wasn't a bitter bite like the winter wind was, nor did it feel like a suffocating gust of icy snowflakes against his skin. It was soothing in its own way. Christoph couldn't say how, but that was the effect it had on him.

"Do you have any children?" Oliver asked. He glanced at Christoph's hand where it was on his wrist, but didn't comment on it. Feeling the touch of someone who had no intentions of hurting him granted him a sense of comfort—something that he had yearned for over the course of several years. "How old are you?"

"No, I don't have any children. I'm thirty-four, with my birthday being on the eleventh of May."

"Your birthday is a month after mine."

"It is. Sadly, I'm not as young as you are... Or rather, as young as you'd be if you were truly alive today." Clearing his throat, Christoph noticed that he was still holding onto Oliver as he spoke. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as he pulled away slowly.

Across the desk, Oliver frowned and watched as Christoph brought his hand back to himself. He missed the warmth of his flesh already, even though it had only been a couple seconds. Christoph noticed his expression and blushed a bit darker.

"What? Did I do something to upset you? Was it something I said?" He asked.

"No, it's... You're warm," Oliver mumbled sheepishly. Christoph looked confused upon hearing that. Oliver then nodded to Christoph's hand and ran his fingers over his own wrist where Christoph's fingers had been just moments ago. "Your touch is warm. I like it."

"O– Oh." Christoph despised the feeling of heat gathering in his cheeks. Nothing he tried to do to prevent it seemed to be working. Clearing his throat, he ducked his head down and looked at his own hands. It had been years since he last touched anyone, and the last person whom had been given a caress of any sort was a woman. Christoph had been with a handful of women, but he also had a bit of experience with men. However, he had never divulged in the pleasures of another human being in a serious relationship. He was too dedicated to his craft to do such a thing. Glancing up at Oliver through his lashes, he slowly stretched his hand out towards Oliver again and nodded to it. "By all means... Feel free to warm yourself."

Oliver didn't hesitate when Christoph offered him his hand. He took it in both of his and curled Christoph's fingers in on themselves, his own curled as well to wrap around his. Christoph blushed darker from the action and glanced towards the door, hoping to get his mind off of how flustered he felt.

"Paul should be arriving any moment now," Christoph told him, his voice higher than he would've liked it to be, "He has your medical records."

"Do I have to let go when he gets here?"

"I... I– I don't know. I don't know how he would react to seeing... this."

Oliver cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brows. "Why do you say that?"

"Well—" Christoph chuckled and motioned to Oliver with his free hand. "Holding hands is rather intimate and you... are dead. I can't imagine he would react well to seeing me, a man who's very much alive, holding hands with you, a man who's very much dead."

"I have two hands. I can hold his hand in one of them."

"Ollie, that's not how it works—"

Before the conversation could go any further, Paul was entering Christoph's room without knocking. He came to a stop in the doorway with a noisy sigh and a shuffling of his shoes against the wood flooring.

"I have the records. I have to say, they're—" Paul stopped in the middle of his sentence when he caught sight of Christoph and Oliver embracing one another across the desk. Clearly dumbfounded, he shook his head and blinked several times as if he was trying to distinguish whether or not this was what he was currently seeing. Sure enough, it was. "...Entertain me and tell me you're praying."

"No," Oliver spoke before Christoph could even do so much as part his lips, "He's letting me hold his hand because he's warm and I'm not."

"Ah! That makes perfect sense!" Paul beamed at Christoph and flicked his brows up. "It's not like Christoph doesn't own a pair of gloves that will do the exact same thing for you, Ollie. But worry not, dead man! I suppose the flesh of the living is far better than gloves."

Christoph glared at Paul, though it's effect wasn't as strong as it typically would've been because of the red coloring to his cheeks. He did, in fact, have gloves nearby. He had worn them earlier in the day when he walked between his classes and around campus. They were sitting on the edge of his sink to allow the ice and snow to melt off of them without creating a mess on the floor. Needless to say, Christoph wasn't in his right mind and he'd utilize that excuse for as long as he could.

Paul opted to stay quiet about Christoph and Oliver, and instead stood at the edge of the desk to place his satchel onto it.

"I had to make a trip to Beelitz-Heilstätten to get these," he said as he undid the clasp for his bag, "I lied to them. I said I was hoping to find my mother's records."

"Was she treated there?"

"God only knows. I haven't spoken to her in years."

"Why?" Oliver asked.

"My family isn't ideal," Paul said nonchalantly with a shrug. Sitting through the papers in the folder that he had taken from the basement of the hospital, he said, "I haven't spoken to her since I first attended Gymnasium in Berlin, and that was twenty or so years ago."

Oliver hummed. He had met many people who had far from suitable home lives and always wondered how they turned out. Paul seemed to be doing well for himself. Though he and his mother had lost contact once he began his schooling and never seemed to have much a relationship before then, according to him, Paul still found his way throughout life. He went through years of being in school to become a history professor at Beelitz Gymnasium, where he taught young minds things he was passionate about and made a decent salary doing so. Oliver was unsure if he would be able to accomplish that much had he grown up in a household like Paul's. He gave him credit for all that he had done without the proper guidance from parental and familial figures.

"Ah! Here we are! Oliver Riedel, treated in Beelitz-Heilstätten between the tenth of January and the twentieth of April in 1901."

"Wait," Christoph interrupted. Looking up at Paul with a curious expression on his face, he asked, "Is today the eleventh?"

"It is. Why?"

"Oliver arrived around midnight on the tenth, then," Christoph concluded. He turned his gaze to Oliver, who had once again began fooling with the soup in his bowl using the spoon. Oliver looked at Christoph and didn't say a word. He didn't have to speak. Christoph knew that Oliver understood. "Yesterday was the tenth and he arrived earlier in the morning, I'm guessing around midnight. Ten years to the day that he was taken to Beelitz-Heilstätten, he came back."

"Christoph? I would appreciate it if you didn't make me nearly pass out by telling me information like that because to be frank, I think I momentarily blacked out in the hospital because I wondered what the hell I'm doing helping you with something as crazy as this," Paul said, as plain as ever. He flashed Christoph a toothy grin before he wiped the smile off his face and sighed heavily. "But that is a good observation... Now, let me look through this again..."

Christoph and Oliver exchanged a wary look before Oliver's eyes darted down to their hands. He was still holding Christoph's fingers in the digits of both of his hands and occasionally squeezing. Christoph never seemed to run out of warmth. Oliver didn't want to take so much that it left Christoph as cold as he felt, but he couldn't help but hold his hand a bit tighter to get his fill of heat.

Christoph didn't mind. Oliver's skin was very gradually warming up, but it was still cold to the touch. Oliver had long, thick fingers, though they weren't as wide as Christoph's. His hands were quite large and awfully calloused from his time that was briefly spent in the military, though nowadays they were a bit softer to the touch than they once had been. Christoph hoped that Oliver found them suitable enough to hold onto, despite it being obvious that Oliver wasn't keen on letting go anytime soon.

"It doesn't say anything about what Frau Lindemann and Doktor Lorenz did to you, but... It does say that you were diagnosed with tuberculosis and died from complications of it," Paul read from the sheet of paper before him. He scanned it over a few times and hummed under his breath. It didn't give specifics as to how Oliver was treated, other than stating that he was given medicine three times a day and that he was kept warm and nourished. Paul wasn't a doctor, but he knew that the lack of information regarding how Oliver was treated wasn't usual. "That's odd... They don't say how you were treated. For tuberculosis patients, they're usually articulate in what they do for them because they want to see which treatments seem to work and which ones don't..."

"Does it state any other physicians other than Doktor Lorenz?" Christoph asked.

"No. It only has his name and signature at the bottom of the paper."

"Do you have more reports on him? There has to be more."

"I'm not sure," Paul mumbled as he handed the sheet of paper to Christoph to begin searching through the other ones in Oliver's file. None stuck out to him as being important, seeing as most only took note of his temperature, what he had been consuming, and how he was doing overall. Shaking his head, Paul lifted his shoulders into a shrug, saying, "No, there's not much of anything else. The rest of the sheets list his parents' names and their address, where he was living, and the basics of his vitals. It doesn't state what medicine he was given and how much of it was distributed, it doesn't give any indication that he was seen by anyone else there, and it doesn't go into detail about his death. All it says was that he passed from tuberculosis."

"Maybe if we find the records of someone who recently died in the hospital, we can see if they wrote down more information about what happened to them?" Oliver suggested, his eyes moving between Christoph and Paul, "I died ten years ago. Maybe Doktor Lorenz has gotten better at note taking since then. He was rather young and seemed to be new to working in a hospital when I was seen by him."

"That would make sense. Lorenz is two years younger than me and since I was twenty-six a decade ago, he was probably around... twenty-four," Paul estimated. Shaking his head, he scoffed to himself and knelt down on the floor at the edge of the desk. He rested his arms across its width and placed his chin on his hands as he thought. "I don't know of anyone who's died from tuberculosis recently. I also don't know anyone who's being treated by him. I don't visit the hospital often, contrary to popular belief."

"How did you gain access to the basement, then?" Christoph pondered, "I doubt they let just anyone down there."

"I showed them my teaching license. I said I was looking for my mother's medical records to use them for a course I was teaching."

"You can't lie to the hospital staff," Oliver said, looking across Paul's face with a concerned expression on their own, "They'll hurt you."

"Hurt me?" He scoffed. "I'd like to see them try."

Oliver wasn't used to Paul and was therefore taken aback by his bold statement. Christoph, on the other hand, rolled his eyes with a shake of his head.

"...That, and I once slept with the lady who was at the front desk when I went there."

"God have mercy, Paul."

"You _slept_ with one of them?!"

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Paul said, mocking bewilderment and offense to Christoph and Oliver's retaliations, "That was before I had someone telling me that there's apparently a secret network of ill-minded physicians there killing patients and stealing their blood and organs! I won't do it again!"

"Besides, he's with Richard anyway," Christoph commented under his breath with a sly smirk tugging at his lips.

Paul's faux act of offense became real within a moment's notice. "I am not! What makes you think I'm having an affair with Richard?!"

"Oh, please! You've been as pathetic as a lost puppy since he was taken to the hospital!"

"Because he's my friend and he doesn't treat me like an idiot like you do, you know-it-all, sophisticated fucking—!"

"Richard," Oliver said suddenly, loud enough to cease the budding argument between Christoph and Paul. His eyes went wide as he shook his head, his mind thinking back to what Christoph mentioned. "He's in the hospital, you said?"

"Yes, he is," Christoph asked, confused as to why Oliver brought it up suddenly, "Why?"

"What's he in there for?"

"...Tuberculosis," Paul said. His face paled and his heart nearly stopped when the realization dawned on him. Swallowing thickly, he stumbled up onto his feet and shook his head, his breath now quick and heavy as he began to panic. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Richard, they— He's in there, he's in the hospital, he's at Beelitz-Heilstätten a– and he's just been getting worse. What if they're doing that to him? What if they're experimenting on him?"

Christoph stood up quickly and retracted his hand from Oliver's to grab Paul by the shoulders and steady him. He attempted to calm him as best as he could, but to no avail. Paul cared and felt deeply for Richard. It wasn't a secret by any means. Most of the nights where he would sneak into Richard's room, it was to be alone with him and cherish him for who he was and what their future would hold. Paul had felt lost without Richard while he was in the hospital, but due to the school's disapproving stance on not only homosexuality, but intimate relationships between professors in general, he kept a cap on how being away from Richard effected him.

He missed him dearly. His heart ached at the mere thought of Richard laying in a hospital—pale, unmoving, and fighting for his life. Richard was the only man that he had ever come to love, though he hadn't yet admitted such a thing to him. He wasn't sure if Richard loved him, even if Richard told him time and time again that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Paul.

However, it seemed like the rest of his life was soon coming to an end, and Paul was hardly a part of it.

"We have to help him," Paul gasped out to Christoph. He took a tight grip on his sides and looked up at him with hot tears burning in his eyes. "Please, please, we have to help Richard. I– I'll kill someone if I have to, Christoph, I just— I can't lose him. I can't lose him, Richard's my boy. That's my boy."

Paul's voice cracked as he spoke his last sentence and a wave of tears was short to follow. Letting out a soft sob, he pressed his forehead to Christoph's chest and wrapped his arms around him tightly, clinging to him as if the illness that Richard contracted would pull Christoph from his life next.

Christoph embraced Paul in a hug as he looked over his shoulder to see Oliver frowning—not because Christoph had left him to tend to Paul, but because Paul was hurting. Oliver rose from the bed after sliding his legs out from underneath the desk and planted his feet on the floor to walk over to the two other men. 

"We have to go to the hospital to see Richard tomorrow," Oliver said quietly to them, "We have to see if he's okay. I'll be able to tell if they're experimenting on him."

"What if they are?" Paul cried out, bringing his head up to look at Oliver. With a pout curving his lips and his gray eyes glistening with tears, he shook against Christoph as he held back his sobs. "What if they're trying to kill him?"

"Then we'll stop them," Christoph said, "We'll make a plan and we'll stop them, together. That way Richard can be saved and Oliver can rest peacefully after."

Paul wasn't entirely convinced, but he forced himself to nod nonetheless. Burrowing his face back into Christoph's chest, he resumed crying, his hands still tightly gripping onto him. Both Oliver and Christoph knew not of what to do, but what they did know was that they needed to act quickly to save Richard's life.


	5. Fünf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Paul. Don’t stan Christoph’s self-centered ass.

## Fünf.

Christoph rummaged through his belongings in the bathroom as Oliver waited patiently on the bed, fiddling with a loose thread from Christoph's comforters to pass the time. It would be a challenge sneaking Oliver into the hospital that he died in, but Christoph could make it work. Paul would be arriving shortly with a few things from Richard's chest of various costumes for the plays that he directed in his classes to further aid Christoph in successfully disguising Oliver. Christoph felt anxiety course through him with the intensity of a hurricane, but moved quickly in attempt to burn it off before the three of them embarked on their journey to the hospital to pay Richard a visit.

Neither Christoph nor Paul had slept well the night before. During their classes, they were a bit spaced out, but carried on with little to no falter otherwise. Paul was a bit moodier than usual and found himself scolding his students a couple more times than he normally would've, but apologized at the end of the class and explained that he hadn't slept well and that his attitude hadn't been caused by them. The class loosened up after Paul offered his explanation and bid him farewell before departing to their other classes, which Paul appreciated. He didn't like being rude to his students, but with all the stress, anxiety, and exhaustion that was weighing down on him, he couldn't help but express it.

Christoph had been quieter than usual as he taught. When a student showed up late, Christoph made them sit at the front of the class, as per usual, but didn't assign them any extra work. With his current situation, that would only make things harder for him. He instead gave them a firm warning when they rose to leave and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. The student was shocked, but did nothing but apologize and wish Herr Schneider a good day. Christoph then went back to his room in his living quarters and managed to sleep for a couple hours before Oliver woke him up.

Oliver had been sleeping when Christoph returned from his classes. No matter how much he slept, he always seemed to be tired. Christoph didn't mind. If sleep was what Oliver needed to function and assist him and Paul with what they were doing that day, Christoph would give him hours upon hours of ample resting time so that he would wake up refreshed and ready to start the day.

What was different this time when Christoph woke up beside Oliver was that Oliver had his arms wrapped around him. Since Oliver was awake and conscious of what he was doing, it made Christoph wonder what had lead them to this position. Had Oliver embraced Christoph at some point during his own slumber and chose to stay like that until he decided to wake Christoph up? Christoph didn't know, but that wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy it. Oliver was warmer than he had been the day before. Christoph accredited himself for that.

"How did you sleep?" Oliver had asked through a soft whisper. In the sunlight that was shining in from the window, his green eyes looked like fresh leaves on trees in spring. Christoph was mesmerized for a moment. Oliver's hair was unruly like always, but it suited him well. Christoph's wasn't much better, anyway. When Christoph did nothing but stare, Oliver smiled sheepishly and propped himself up on his elbow to look down at Christoph and say teasingly, "Herr Schneider? Can you hear me? Or are you dreaming with your eyes wide open?"

"I slept fine," Christoph whispered, his voice low and soft since he had just woken up, "How long have you been awake?"

"About ten minutes."

"You could've woken me up when you woke up."

"I didn't want to. Your arms were around me until about a minute ago."

Christoph blushed dark red and spared a glance at his own arms. He hadn't registered grabbing Oliver whilst he slept, but he didn't doubt it. There were some mornings where he'd wake up with a pillow against his chest and his arms wrapped securely around it. Christoph never wanted to say so, but he was lonely. Now instead of holding onto pillows, he was holding onto Oliver.

He couldn't let Paul know about this, or anyone else, for that matter. He didn't want to raise any suspicions around himself, especially because of his doings with Paul. It would be hard to discover that Christoph was sharing a bed with a dead man, but it wouldn't be very difficult to unearth that he and Paul were up to something mysterious.

"Forgive me," Christoph told him through a mumble. He raised a hand and brushed it through Oliver's hair, pushing a few strands of it behind his ear. Oliver's eyelashes fluttered as his eyes fell to a close, leaning into Christoph's touch with a smile twitching at his lips. Christoph then brushed the pad of his thumb over the shell of Oliver's ear, earning a quiet hum from him. "I didn't know I was doing such a thing."

"It's okay," Oliver whispered back, "I liked it."

After several more minutes of the two laying in Christoph's bed, Christoph rose and retreated to the bathroom. He didn't want to come to terms with his own actions quite yet. He didn't want to look at the feelings that were suddenly bubbling within him either.

Oliver wasn't alive. Oliver was dead. He had died a decade ago. What was Christoph, a well respected and intelligent professor, doing with him? What was he doing overall? He was not only sacrificing his wellbeing, but he was putting his job, title, and freedom on the line as well, all for a young man who had died at the beginning of the century. To make matters worse, it seemed as if Christoph was becoming physically drawn to him somehow. The thought made his head spin. To save himself from the discomfort, he decided not to focus on it and instead put his attention on what they were to do that day.

Now Christoph was walking out of the bathroom just as Paul opened the door. Paul almost expected to see the two holding one another again and was surprised when he didn't. Humming to himself, he looked at Oliver and smiled.

"Ready to play dress up?" He asked with a wink.

Oliver cracked a smile and nodded, standing from the bed so that Paul could place his satchel full of various costumes down.

"Alright, Ollie. Let's get you dressed."

—

Circular spectacles sat on Oliver's nose and fogged up as they made their way into the hospital. The cold air contrasting with the warmth of the hospital blinded Oliver for a moment, causing him to reach out for Christoph. Christoph stifled a laugh when he turned to see Oliver's vision obstructed by the fogged up lenses over his eyes, meanwhile Paul let out a snicker and made a sly comment about it under his breath.

A white dress shirt with a high collar around his neck was buried beneath not only a vest, but a jacket as well. On his legs were the corresponding trousers to the jacket and laced up on his feet were black dress shoes that were a bit too small for him. To assure that he wouldn't be noticed as easily, he was wearing a top hat, which only made him appear taller than he already was. When Paul craned his head up to look at Oliver, he raised his eyebrows at the sight and took a step away to see Oliver's full figure. He was taller than anyone he had ever met, even Doktor Lorenz when he knew him all those years ago. He hoped that Oliver's height wouldn't give his identity away, that is if there were any nurses that would somehow notice him. Paul hoped that that wouldn't be the case considering Doktor Lorenz was the only one who ever had any contact with him aside from Frau Lindemann, and maybe Till.

Oliver stayed close to Christoph as they walked through the hospital. It was exactly how he remembered it. While it was warm, it also had a heavy, thick atmosphere that would've suffocated him if he were still alive. He looked around with wide eyes and grabbed onto Christoph's arm, squeezing his bicep and stepping even closer to him. Christoph glanced down at Oliver's hand around his arm and sighed softly to him as he patted the other's knuckles.

"When we get up to the desk, don't say anything. I'll handle it," Paul mumbled to Christoph and Oliver as the approached the desk he had mentioned, "Don't look suspicious either, but you should already know that."

"Oh, thank you. I was about to act jittery and shift frequently in place to draw attention to myself," Christoph said sarcastically. 

"One more comment like that and it'll be you who's stuck in this hospital, Schneider," Paul said through a smile quietly enough for only Christoph to hear as he faced the front.

Beside him, Christoph rolled his eyes before he lead Oliver up to the desk with him and Paul. Just as they were told, they stayed quiet whilst Paul spoke to the nurse.

Oliver could hear coughing and cries from several people coming from the surrounding hallways. It brought him back to his time in Beelitz-Heilstätten. Though he was sickly and fighting to remain conscious when Frau Lindemann brought him in, he could still remember how haunting his introduction to the hospital had been.

—

_"Mama and Papa,_

_I'm sorry I've not written in so long. I've fallen ill. The doctor says I have tuberculosis. I tried to stay as healthy as possible. I ate the foods that you told me to eat. I stayed away from those who were sick. I even bathed twice a day to assure myself that I was always clean. I don't know how I contracted this disease. I'm sorry to have failed you._

_It started with a cough. It wouldn't go away, no matter what I tried. Then I started losing sleep because I couldn't stop coughing. My voice was gone shortly after because of it and then after that, I started seeing blood in the mucus that I would cough up. It didn't startle me at first, but once there was a lot of it, I became scared. I told one of the men that I worked with because I didn't know what to do. He told me to tell Frau Lindemann because she's been taking care of me throughout my time here. She's a very nice lady. She has a son who's a little older than me. He's very sick, though. She says he's been sick since he was born._

_Frau Lindemann took me to the hospital after she noticed that I lost more weight, and that's where I am now. I'm currently laying in a hospital bed, very tired and very sick. I miss home very much. I want to visit. Not even that— I want to come home and stay there. As of recent, I've been thinking that if I had just stayed at home that I wouldn't have gotten sick. I know you aren't keen on me complaining about life and how things turn out for some of us, but this illness is hard to deal with. It's even harder to battle since I'm alone and without either one of you._

_There are many others in the hospital because of the outbreak at Beelitz Hauptschule. I've seen classmates of mine come in here and never come out. In fact, the majority of them haven't left. They've passed away—some quicker than others and some slower. I seem to be the latter. I've been here for a month or so, I believe, and I've yet to get better, but I don't seem to be nearing death yet. I feel as if that is what will be coming next for me, though. I don't see myself recovering from this. At first, the thought scared me, but now that I'm experiencing more pain than ever, I'd like to pass away. I wish for you to be here when that happens. I don't want to die alone. It's been a worst fear of mine since I was a child._

_If somehow I do get better, I'm going to come home. I don't want to be in Beelitz anymore. I miss the house I grew up in and I miss the parents who gave me everything even when we had nothing. I miss how calm our town was and I miss how safe and secure I felt there. Here, I feel out of place. I feel apprehensive and anxious. Beelitz isn't home and it never will be. It hasn't been since my arrival, though I tried desperately to make it so. I've failed you in another way, then. I was unable to make a home wherever I went, even though that's what you've always wanted for me._

_This hospital isn't my home either. It never will be. But I suspect that it will be where I die. Again, if you're able to, I would like to see you again before I'm met with the fate that everyone else has seemingly been dealt. If you are unable to see me, I understand and will not hold it against you. I know that money is scarce nowadays and that you have to use it for things at home. Take care of yourselves before you take care of me. You've been giving me everything since I was born. It's now your turn to have things to yourselves._

_I'm sorry that I've gotten sick, Mama and Papa. I never meant to. I'm sorry that I may die soon without being able to say a proper goodbye. Maybe from the afterlife, I will be able to visit you and assure you that I'm fine and unharmed. I've heard from the Catholic nuns that frequently visit the hospital that Heaven is a promising place with light, health, and happiness. Though I'm not religious, I hope that God will except me into Heaven when I pass. One day, you can meet me there and we can be together again. Until then, we will always be a family, even if I'm no longer on this Earth._

_I love you, Mama and Papa. I will see you soon. Thank you for everything._

_Your son, Oliver."_

—

Paul paced the hallway several meters away from Christoph and Oliver, mumbling anxiously to himself with his hand cupping his chin and squeezing as he thought. They were instructed to wait once Paul had stated that they were there to visit Richard and see how he was doing, and that didn't settle well with him. Had Christoph not rested his hand on his shoulder as a physical cue for him to maintain control of his emotions, Paul would've gone off the rails. He would be getting checked in the hospital, but he'd be seen by psychiatrists rather than tuberculosis doctors.

Side by side, Christoph and Oliver sat on a bench. The two were silent as they sat. They'd often sneak glances at one another, only to look away when the other looked at them. Christoph felt like one of his students when they developed a crush on a fellow student. This was how they acted. They were shy to look at who they fancied and were flustered around them. Christoph quickly saw himself taking on those qualities the longer that he spent time with Oliver. It had only been a couple days, if that, and yet he was somehow experiencing and developing emotions of this sort for him.

In his past life, Oliver had hardly ever experienced something such as this. Due to his shy, quiet nature, he rarely confronted or dealt with emotions like the ones that he was feeling for Christoph. Christoph was a handsome, bright man, who was going out of his way to not only help Oliver with what he was doing, but attempting to comfort him in the process. Christoph was keeping him warm, providing him somewhere to rest, although it had been Oliver's room from when he attended the then Beelitz Hauptschule, and talking to him as if he was actually human still. Oliver couldn't keep his feelings at bay, even though they had sprung up so suddenly. He had had interests in people before, but it was nothing like this—nothing felt as electrifying and comfortable as what he felt with Christoph.

Paul wasn't paying any mind to them or his surroundings. Oliver took note of that. He bit his lower lip between his teeth and slowly glanced down at Christoph's hands where they rested on his lap. The urge to reach out and take one into his was nearly unbearable, but he knew that he couldn't. Not only would it lead to Paul making comments to them later about it, but it would draw attention to them from the hospital staff. Homosexuality was still frowned upon and Oliver didn't want to take any risks with it. With a soft sigh, he lowered his head and tightened his grip on his own hands, willing himself to believe that one of them was Christoph's.

At his side, Christoph could feel the tension radiating off of Oliver. He wasn't sure if it was because he was once again in the same hospital that he was tortured and later died in or because of their proximity. He felt selfish for even viewing the latter as a possibility, but he felt like a stranger to his own thoughts recently. They were entirely his own and he knew that, but he was unable to come to proper terms with them. Perhaps, he thought, if he just kept them to himself, they would go away. Soon after, Oliver would be sent back to the afterlife and Christoph would be alone. Growing attached to Oliver was wrong in many ways, which Christoph knew. However, he couldn't stop wondering what he would do and how he would feel once Oliver was gone. He, too, sighed and dropped his head, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

For several more minutes, Paul paced the hallway as Christoph and Oliver sat with one another. A nurse rounded the corner and came to a stop shortly ahead of Paul with a soft smile on her face. Paul stopped where he was and exchanged a few words with her before turning to look over his shoulder at Christoph and Oliver. He waved them along as the nurse began walking off in the direction that she had come from.

"Doktor Lorenz was tending to him when I went to get him. I apologize for the wait," she said to Paul, though the two other men heard, "He was giving him a blood transfusion. If Richard remains asleep, that will be the reason why."

Paul nodded, but Oliver nearly stopped where he was. His eyes widened and his jaw came to a tight close, his hand snapping out to grab Christoph's bicep again.

Christoph looked down at his hand and then at his face, searching his panicked expression with a look of worry. "What? What's wrong?"

"That's what Frau Lindemann said he'd be doing for me," Oliver whispered, his voice strung and high, "She said he'd be giving me a blood transfusion so that I would feel better, but they ended up taking my blood."

Christoph's throat went dry upon hearing that. Immediately, every worst possibility came to mind. He turned to glance through the doorways that they passed, peering in to see the patients laid out in their beds. Some were worse than others, looking barely alive and clinging to what health they did have. Others were awake and talking, but none looked happy. Christoph felt a chill run up his back from the mere thought of Richard being stuck here for any longer. The image that flashed before his eyes of Richard being experimented on didn't settle well with him either.

He didn't respond to Oliver. He couldn't. He knew that if he did that his mind would run rampant, which wasn't what they needed at the moment. Paul was on edge and worried about his lover, and Oliver was nervous about being back in the hospital. That left Christoph as the only one with somewhat of a grip on his emotions. He had to stay neutral for the two of them. If he didn't, there was no telling what would happen.

The nurse lead them to a room at the end of the hallway. Before she could say anything more, Paul was rushing through the door and throwing himself to his knees to slide over to the side of Richard's bed. Richard was pale and unmoving. His hair was matted to his forehead from the sweat that had beaded on his skin and his breathing was slow.

"Richard?" Paul gasped out, his eyes moving frantically across the other's face. He took Richard's hand into the two of his and squeezed it, tears welling up in his eyes as he brought Richard's hand to his chest to cradle it. "R– Richard? Can you hear me? It's me, it's Paul. It's Paul, I'm here. I'm here, it's going to be okay. I promise, don't worry. I– I'll make it better. I'll make it better, I'm going to do whatever I can to make you feel better. I promise. I promise, Richard, I'll do everything I can for you."

The sight broke Christoph's heart. Paul wasn't an emotional man, so to see him breakdown at the very sight of Richard laid up in a hospital bed was enough to nearly move him to tears. Though he may have had poked fun at Paul for being so attached to the other man, Christoph couldn't blame him for clinging to him now. There was no telling how Richard would do in the following days—not if they didn't know what was happening to him behind closed doors.

As Christoph angled himself away from Paul to ask the nurse a question about how Richard was being cared for, he was met with nothing. She had left and shut the door behind her. Christoph's eyebrows came together in confusion as a feeling of unsettlement washed over him. Thus far, he didn't have a good feeling about the hospital. Based off of what Oliver had told him and how things seemed to run, he was quickly becoming more and more suspicious of what was truly going on.

Oliver broke from Christoph's side to look around the room. It wasn't like any room that he had been kept in, though he reckoned that Richard didn't spend time in here. The nurse had said that she had to fetch him from Doktor Lorenz, after all. Odds were that Richard was being kept in one of the rooms that were practically hidden at the back of the building. They were dimly lit and secluded with little to no air or heat, hardly any windows, and thick doors that seemed to block out all noise. Oliver had found that out the hard way. During the end of his stay, he found it in him to scream as loud as he could for help. He knew that somebody should've been able to hear him, but it seemed as if no one could. Oliver heard his own voice echo around the room instead. It was all he ever heard in those moments. Little did he know that that and silence would be the most calming things he'd hear until he passed.

Paul was still crouched down on the floor at Richard's side as Oliver walked over to the other side of the bed. He immediately looked at Richard's arms to see if there was any bruising. Sure enough, there was.

Oliver was hesitant to touch him, but did so nonetheless. With a slight tremble of his fingers, he reached down and traced them over the dark marks in the crook of Richard's elbow, on the inside of his wrist, and on the back of his hand. Oliver knew these bruises. He was still covered in them. The arms were where Doktor Lorenz would extract the most blood. When the skin was too tender for it, he would move to the legs or neck. Oliver could feel the dull ache in his neck as he thought about it and quickly moved his gaze up to Richard's throat. Thankfully, there were no bruises on any of the arteries. It should've comforted Oliver, but it didn't. With the amount of marks that were on Richard's arms, it was only a matter of time before Doktor Lorenz began taking blood from elsewhere.

"They're doing it to Richard," Oliver said softly, though loud enough for Christoph and Paul to hear. The two looked at Oliver as he flickered his gaze across Richard's face. Even while he slept, he looked pained. Oliver could only imagine what all they were doing to him while he was unconscious. He never knew the full extent of what had happened to him, though he wasn't sure that he wanted to. "They're taking his blood. Once they can't take any from his arms anymore, they'll move to his legs or neck... It depends on what gives Doktor Lorenz the most blood."

"Does he feel it when it happens to him?" Paul asked. When Oliver looked down at him, he saw that Paul was crying. Tears formed rivers on his cheeks and dripped off of his chin to fall to the floor. "Will he wake up?"

"He will in a couple hours. Some of these marks are still fresh." Oliver frowned and shook his head. "How could they do this? How could they take so many lives just to save one man?"

"Love, maybe," Christoph mused. He was now standing at the end of the bed and alternating his gaze between Richard and Oliver. He gave a shrug of his shoulders and shake of his head. "But even then, I'm unsure. This has been going on for a decade and shows no signs of stopping."

"Will he die, Ollie?" Paul sniffled. "Do you think they'll kill him how they killed you?"

"I... I don't know..." Oliver looked down at Richard and studied his figure. He was built and muscular, though he had lost weight, as shown by the loose skin on his neck, jaw, and face. Oliver had a vague memory of what Till looked like. It compared well to Richard's build. He could only hope that they wouldn't take advantage of that to benefit Till. "How long has he been in here?"

"Nearly a month. He was admitted in the middle of December."

"A week after my birthday," Paul mumbled. He stood from the floor and gently placed his hand on Richard's cheek. He stroked the curvature of it with his thumb as he smiled sadly down at Richard, his voice tight when he spoke, "For my birthday, he performed a piece from one of Shakespeare's plays. He wore a red dress that didn't even cover most of his chest. He made me dress up, too... I had to wear this ridiculous suit that was so form fitting that I could hardly breathe... He called it a twist on Romeo and Juliet, where instead of dying at the end, we live together for the rest of our lives, happy and away from everyone that judges us."

Paul chuckled softly to himself and looked over Richard's body. Even if he was sick, he was still the most beautiful man he had ever seen. When they first met, he was immediately drawn to him. He approached Richard with a smirk and a bold statement about what Richard had been wearing, which was ironically a dress for another play that he was rehearsing with his students. Richard matched Paul's energy and spoke to him so coolly and smoothly that Paul was hooked instantly. He spent the entire conversation either smirking or smiling at Richard. When Paul had to excuse himself to tend to a class of his, he held his hand out for Richard's. Richard gave it to him, only for Paul to kiss his knuckles with a wink. From then on, the two were practically inseparable.

They had fights at times, but it was never anything that got out of hand. Richard was an emotional man that had trauma from his childhood and issues with commitment. Paul helped how he could and eased Richard into a comfortable relationship—one with boundaries that they could both adhere to and respect. Once that was set in stone, Richard slipped into a state of comfortability that also brought with it a new sense of confidence. Paul was happy to watch him grow in such a way. It only made Richard more and more beautiful as the days passed.

"We made love that night. We barely managed to get our clothes off before we were all over one another. He's always so gentle yet... desperate. He said my name so heavenly, it was as if he was praying." Paul smiled at Richard and grabbed his hand. Though Richard didn't return the grip, Paul held him tight nonetheless. "We were engulfed in one another until the sun came up. I didn't even want to sleep because that meant I wouldn't be able to look at him... I've attempted to push down my feelings for him for so long—to keep them on a short leash so they wouldn't run out of control... But now I wish I hadn't done that. It's foolish of me to think that love could save someone who's so sick, but a part of me believes that... maybe if Richard heard me say that I love him, that he would wake up and feel better. That he could come home with me and we could live in Berlin, like he's wanted to for the past year. We could leave here and abandon what we know to start over elsewhere—together and so deep in love that the Gods themselves yearn for a love like ours."

Christoph's gaze landed on Oliver as Paul spoke, only to discover that Oliver was already looking at him. Christoph wanted to look away, but forced himself to maintain eye contact with Oliver. A small smile curved the corners of his lips before a blush crept onto his cheeks. Oliver returned the gentle grin before turning his attention to Paul again.

"I love him. I really do love him," Paul whispered, "There's nothing that I wouldn't do for him. Absolutely nothing."

Righting himself, Paul stood up straight and divided his attention between Christoph and Oliver. Sniffling once again, he nodded and squeezed Richard's hand.

"I'll help you," he said to them, "I'll help you because I can't let Richard die like this, and because I refuse to let this happen to anyone else."

"Thank you," Christoph said softly with a nod, "We both appreciate it."

Nodding in agreement, Oliver swallowed hard. "Yes, thank you, Paul. It means a great deal to me."

Paul managed to smile briefly before he sighed sharply and shook his head. "Don't mention it. Let's get out of here because I purposely catch tuberculosis to join Richard."

Instead of frowning like he usually would to one of Paul's comments of the sort, Christoph gave an amused scoff. Paul leaned down and pressed several kisses to Richard's lips, mumbling against them and promising to return soon to check on him.

It hurt to leave Richard, but Paul knew that he had to leave in order to form a plan to help him. Richard couldn't stay here much longer and he knew that. The last thing that he wanted was for Richard to die at the hands of a man who had no regard for human life.

Paul pulled away and started for the door. If he didn't, he would've stayed there the rest of the day. He couldn't very well do that for a plethora of reasons.

Christoph was short to follow and Oliver lingered behind him. Oliver eyed Richard for a moment before he frowned and lowered his head. He wished he could do more. He wished he knew how to stop Doktor Lorenz from taking so many lives, but he didn't. If he did, he would've stopped him from claiming his.

For a moment, Oliver fantasized about what his life would've been like had he not died at age twenty. Maybe he'd have a wife and a couple children. Maybe he'd own his own plastering business. Maybe he'd be at home, tending to his parents. Oliver didn't know, but he subconsciously found himself wishing that somehow Christoph would've made his way into his life. Then they could have a proper relationship. They could live with one another and share kisses in the morning after waking up. They could bathe with one another and wash each other off. They could lay naked in bed with the sheets spread out haphazardly over them. They could do whatever they pleased if Oliver were alive.

Oliver found himself feeling uneasy as he stepped out of the room. At first, he believed it to be because of what he was thinking about, but the sensation became unbearable within seconds—like a persistent itch that he couldn't reach. Oliver turned around and looked into the room again, only to see something that he believed to only exist in his subconscious.

A creature, dressed in all white to match its pale skin, sat at the end of Richard's bed, perched on the rod of the bed frame. Oliver's eyes went wide as he stared at it, his entire body stilling.

He had forgotten about such a terrifying thing. He thought it was a figment of his imagination. Even now, it should've been, but it wasn't. It was reaching out towards Richard and cocking its head to the side, lips parted and teeth bared. Oliver couldn't remember what the creature had done to him, or if it had done anything at all, but he suddenly recalled seeing it frequently, mostly in his dreams or when he was waking up from being unconscious for God knows how long. However, it appeared to be threatening in its stance and expression, which lead Oliver to step briskly back into the room.

With heavy stomps of his feet across the floor, he walked over to the bed. The creature turned and stared at Oliver with dark eyes and a contorted expression. Fear nearly paralyzed Oliver as he met its gaze.

Before Oliver could do anything, the creature narrowed its eyes and vanished into thin air. It didn't say anything nor make any sound whatsoever. That, somehow, was more scarring than anything else. How could something be so terrifying yet so silent? Oliver didn't know, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.

"Ollie?" Christoph called out as he stood in the doorway. Oliver turned to look at him with wide eyes and a shocked expression on his face. "Is everything alright?"

Oliver couldn't bring himself to speak at first. He was caught between wanting to scream and wanting to rip his own eyes out as to never see anything that horrifying again. Rather than doing either of the two, he simply shook his head and said, "No. We need to help Richard before it's too late... Though it seems as if 'too late' may be coming soon."


	6. Sechs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is precious. He’s baby. Christoph can suck it.
> 
> Also, things are a little spicy in this chapter!

## Sechs.

"You really want me to befriend the man who is currently killing my lover? Is that the best plan that you could come up with?"

"You said you went to school with Lorenz when you were younger. All you have to do is say that you'd like to catch up and maybe express an interest in the medical field. You can use an excuse including history to help you."

"Yeah? Like what? Do you want me to say that I'm curious about how the plague was treated hundreds of years ago in Medieval Europe for a class?"

"That sounds perfect. I'm sure he knows about that since he's stealing blood and leeches were often used for that sort of thing back then."

"Schneider, I was joking! Christ!" Paul gave a harsh laugh. He was appalled by the idea that Christoph and Oliver had come up with over the course of three days. Three days of thinking and this was the best that they could do. Paul felt offended, especially since he was the one being thrown under the bus in order for this to get them anywhere. "I'm not doing this. I refuse to even get near that man. In case you forgot, he's currently stealing Richard's blood and killing him! My lover! He's killing my lover! I get that he already killed yours, Schneider, but I'm not doing this!"

Typically, Christoph would've blushed, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he sighed sharply and tightened his jaw for a moment.

"If you don't do this, Richard will no longer be your lover because he will be buried six feet underground in a coffin that you can't possibly sneak yourself into," Christoph said bluntly, his voice low and controlled, "You have the best advantage between the two of us, meaning you and I. You knew Lorenz years ago and I didn't. He'll at least be a little more open with you because of that."

"We weren't even friends. We hardly spoke. If anything, all I ever did was make fun of him," Paul grumbled between gritted teeth.

"Well, then, I guess you can apologize for your lack of manners back then when you befriend him for the sake of your lover's life," Christoph said.

Paul couldn't even begin to express how angry he was. How dare Christoph do this to him? How could Christoph sit there and tell Paul to spend time with a man who was a murderer and hoping to claim Richard as his next victim? Paul knew that Christoph could be cold at times, but this act was truly something frigid.

"You don't have to actually become his friend, Paul," Christoph stated to try and ease Paul, "You just have to make him comfortable enough to get him to trust you. Once you do that, we can go from there."

"Yeah? And what if he purposely infects me with some sort of disease so he can take my blood next?"

"Then Oliver and I will think of something else. For the moment, though, this is our best option."

Paul scoffed sharply and rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. He knew that he would do anything for Richard, but a part of him felt like he would be betraying him if he were to do this. He had no intentions of becoming Doktor Lorenz's friend, or even acquaintance, for that matter, but that wasn't enough to soothe him. He would still be dedicating his time to gaining the man's trust and standing idly by until then to do something about his inhumane procedures.

Admittedly, Paul hadn't been able to come up with anything over the past couple days. He was too busy focusing on Richard and thinking about him to do much of anything. He wanted badly to visit him, but he knew better than to be so attached to the other man in front of others. Surely, they'd catch onto their relationship and punish Paul for it. Paul loved Richard, but if that were to happen, he wouldn't be able to help him at all. Paul was stuck at a cross roads morally and didn't know where to turn. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps a step could be taken in the direction that Christoph and Oliver had suggested.

Sighing heavily through his nose, Paul brought his hands up to his face and rubbed over it. He groaned to himself as he thought and shook his head.

"Fine," he bit out through a clenched jaw, "I'll follow through with your stupid fucking plan. There. Are you happy now that you're ruining my life and making me want to kill myself?"

"Very," Christoph said sarcastically. Patting Paul's shoulder, he added, "Just think about Richard. You're doing this to save his life. You don't have to like Lorenz or even spend every single day with him. You just have to do enough to gain his trust. Once that happens, we can go from there. Let's just take this one step at a time."

Paul forced himself to nod to what Christoph said. He had a point. Doing this would ensure Richard's safety and health. It was what Paul wanted for him. If Richard wasn't alive, they couldn't spend their lives together. His fate and Richard's depended on this, and he was the only one who could save it.

"I'm going back to my room," Paul muttered as he stood from the chair of Christoph's desk, "I need to get drunk. It'll help me make this decision."

"Whatever you need. Oliver and I can stop by tomorrow morning to—"

"No, please, _please_ don't. Just give me twelve hours to sit with this and then I'll do what I have to do."

Christoph withheld a sigh, saying, "If that's what you need, then by all means. Thank you, Paul."

Grumbling an incoherent response in return, Paul dismissively waved his hand as he walked out of Christoph's room. It was early in the evening and Christoph had brought Paul to his room after their classes had ended. Oliver was asleep then and was still unconscious beneath Christoph's comforters. That somehow made it easier for Christoph to talk to Paul about what needed to be done. Perhaps it was because Christoph knew both Richard and Paul, and what they shared, whereas Oliver only knew of what Richard was currently enduring. Nonetheless, Christoph had gotten through to Paul and their plan would soon be underway.

Stepping away from the desk, Christoph sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Within a week, his world had been turned upside down and he was feeling nothing but the negative effects of it. He was losing weight because his appetite had vanished, he had headaches five nights out of the week, and he was slacking in the amount of work that he assigned his students. They had noticed their professor's odd behavior, but only a handful mentioned it to him. Christoph had thanked them for their concern and opted to tell them that he was simply going through something with his family. It wasn't entirely a lie. As much as he hated to say it at times, he viewed Paul and Richard as his family. They were there for him even on his worst of days and did what they could to cheer him up. That meant more to Christoph than anything else.

Christoph shedded himself of his formal attire and changed into pajamas. They were warm as they hugged his hips and the uppermost parts of his thighs and the shirt that he wore complimented his figure, although it was now a bit more loose than usual. Christoph freshened up in the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water a few times before drying it. After that, he stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. Thankfully, he still looked like himself, even if there was a glint of confusion and stress in his eyes and features. It wasn't as bad as it could've been and for that, he was grateful.

Christoph left the bathroom to join Oliver in bed, who was buried beneath every comforter of Christoph's. He smiled faintly from the sight and reached down to brush a few strands of hair behind Oliver's ear. He always touched Oliver so tenderly—as if he was made of glass and Christoph was afraid to break him. Oliver had already been through so much pain in his life. Christoph didn't want to add to it.

Laying down beside him, Christoph got underneath the covers and wrapped his arm around Oliver. Rather than pulling Oliver to him, he moved closer. As he bent his legs, their knees collided and Oliver stirred beneath the blankets. Christoph didn't want to disrupt him so he remained still, waiting to see if Oliver would come to.

Moments later, Oliver was waking up. He opened his eyes and blinked them several times to focus his vision, only to smile the second that Christoph came into view. Humming tiredly, Oliver slipped his arm around Christoph and pulled himself closer, their foreheads less than an inch away from one another's.

"Hi," he whispered, his voice soft and airy, "When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago. I brought Paul with me to tell him our plan."

"Oh? What did he have to say about it?"

"A lot," Christoph sighed. Dragging his fingertips up and down Oliver's back, he shook his head. "But he seems to be onboard with it. Just took him some convincing."

"Paul's much different from you," Oliver mumbled. Leaning in, he connected their foreheads and tightened his hold on Christoph. He was warm, just like always, and Oliver was drawn to it. He entangled their legs together and curled his toes in on themselves as he brushed his feet against Christoph's calves, earning a smile from the other man. "I don't mind him, though. He's nice."

"He is. He's just very... wild."

"Wild? What makes you say that?"

"Paul once tried to throw himself off of the roof of the school to prove to his students that it was possible to do so without injuring oneself. I forget the context, but I know it had something to do with some ancient historical figure who supposedly jumped from something very high and walked away unscathed."

"Did Paul actually jump?"

"Heavens, no. One of his fellow history professors snuck onto the roof and pulled Paul away from the edge before he could so much as look over it." Christoph snorted and rolled his eyes from the memory. "They made sure he wasn't suicidal before allowing him to resume class. Shortly after, he was banned from going onto the roof."

Oliver laughed as Christoph retold the story. Though he didn't know Paul well, he didn't doubt such a thing after seeing some of his behaviors. Oliver could only ever dream of being so energetic and fearless.

"I don't think you'd ever do anything like that," Oliver mumbled to Christoph. He smiled at him and glanced across his facial features as he spoke, "You aren't foolish."

"But aren't I? I'm embracing a dead man and sharing my bed with him." Christoph was grinning softly as he spoke, but his words were serious. His knuckles brushed down Oliver's cheek as he flitted his gaze between his lips and his eyes. He could drown in them if he weren't careful. However, Christoph was feeling daring, so he jumped right in. "Though... I would be something of a liar if I were to say that I didn't enjoy it."

Christoph spoke so eloquently that Oliver found himself feeling as if he was falling through time and space itself. He stayed still for a moment before he raised his hand to wrap his fingers around Christoph's wrist. Tension rose within him, but it wasn't anything bad. It was the kind of apprehension that Oliver supposed people felt when they were met with the love of their live.

He knew that he didn't have a life, but he had never met his supposed soulmate before he passed, he believed. Oliver didn't believe in many things of the sort, but he often fantasized about love. He knew that it was too soon to say that he loved Christoph, and he didn't. He was simply infatuated with him. That, to him, was good enough.

"Sometimes it's better to be foolish than it is to be rational," Oliver whispered. His eyes danced between the piercing blue eyes that Christoph possessed as he became flustered. "But I'm not a scholar like you. I don't know what I'm talking about."

"It doesn't take a genius to decipher one's feelings and desires," Christoph assured him, "I see great things in you. I see many things in you, actually."

"Oh? Like what?"

"I see... a will to live—a drive to help others. I see that you'd sacrifice everything of yours if that's what it took to assure that someone else would walk away perfectly fine. I see a man who's damaged and scared, yet headstrong in what he's doing and what he believes in... I also see someone who has seen most everything, but chooses to keep going nonetheless. People like you are few and far between. I think the Heavens made a mistake when they decided that your life was to come to an end. Perhaps that's why you truly never reached the afterlife, and maybe that's why you're here now. I have my doubts that you'll be staying for much longer, but... a man can hope."

Oliver didn't know what to say. Christoph had rendered him speechless. Between their eye contact and how calmly Christoph spoke, Oliver was unsure of what effected him more. Christoph was nothing he ever expected to encounter, but everything that he had ever wanted. Why was life and fate so cruel to him? Why had it taken him away so soon, before he could meet Christoph and allow himself to fall utterly and hopelessly in love with him? If Oliver couldn't have answers about anything else in exchange for the reasoning behind that, he would be content. He wanted to stay with Christoph until Christoph passed. Then Oliver could join him again in the afterlife and spend the rest of eternity with him.

Oliver was so overcome with emotions that he could hardly withstand it. Christoph didn't pressure him to say anything. He laid there beside him, his hand now cupping Oliver's cheek in its warm palm and his eyes calmly moving across Oliver's face. Even if Oliver desperately wanted to, he couldn't speak. His voice failed him.

Rather than saying anything, Oliver leaned in and connected his lips to Christoph's. Christoph froze for less than second before a sigh filtered out through his nose and his lips pursed firmly against Oliver's. The restraints and inhibitions in Oliver's mind diminished to nothing within that moment. He released Christoph's wrist to grasp his shirt instead, pulling him closer as his eyelashes dared to tickle the tops of his cheeks.

Within his chest, Christoph's heart was racing. The anticipation of seeing where this would lead to left Christoph breathless. He parted his lips to breathe. After doing so, he kissed Oliver in a deeper manner. His lips closed over Oliver's and coaxed them into moving fluidly with his own, earning a soft groan from the back of his throat.

Oliver tasted of Heaven. Even being beside him gave Christoph a glimpse of what peace felt like. Kissing him was something entirely different. Christoph felt as if he was baring his deepest emotions in such an intimate way and succumbing to his fears and desires all at once. It was something that was nothing short of overwhelming, but it was also addicting. Christoph never wanted to let this feeling go, as selfish as it sounded. The thought of never having this again made his heart ache. Couldn't Oliver stay forever? Couldn't he stay in Christoph's life until Christoph himself passed onto whatever came next for him?

Christoph pushed those thoughts aside to focus on Oliver. Oliver was moaning softly, perfectly into Christoph's mouth as Christoph's tongue wandered beyond the other's lips. Christoph exhaled sharply through his nose and twisted his tongue sinfully around Oliver's when he wasn't ravaging his mouth slowly with such precision that it left Oliver feeling dizzy.

The sensation alone was enough to lead him to pull away to attempt to collect himself. Christoph exhaled raggedly and kept his eyes closed as he loosened the secure grip that he had unknowingly taken on Oliver whilst they kissed. Oliver hadn't minded. He loved it whenever Christoph had his hands on him.

"More," Oliver begged, his voice soft yet demanding, "Please, Christoph?"

Christoph could never deny a request such as that, especially when it came from Oliver. Opening his eyes, he caught sight of Oliver's flushed face and wide eyes, his pupils dilated with lust and desire. The sight alone lured a groan out of Christoph's throat.

"What do you want me to do?" Christoph asked. Tracing his fingertip down Oliver's jaw, he gently guided Oliver to face him when he looked away for a moment. He then took a grip on his chin with his thumb and index finger, silently demanding Oliver's attention. "I can't give you more if you don't use your words and tell me what it is you want."

"You," Oliver whimpered, "You, I– I want you. I want all of you."

"All of me, hm? You don't want to save some for another time?"

Oliver greedily shook his head. "No. I want it all now."

Christoph couldn't help but laugh softly from how adamant Oliver was when it came to this. Positioning himself over top of Oliver with his elbows on both sides of him to keep him propped up, Christoph gazed down at Oliver and brushed his fingers through his hair.

"How about this," Christoph proposed with a smile on his face, "We kiss for a bit longer and then if you decide that you want more, we can see what it is you want. How does that sound?"

Oliver, just like before, didn't give Christoph a verbal reply. He opted to grab the front of his shirt again to tug him down and connect their lips in a kiss that was just as hungry and as passionate as the last one had been. Christoph couldn't seem to wipe the grin from his lips, even as he kissed Oliver and rested more of his weight onto him. Oliver's legs bent at the knee and pressed against Christoph's sides, keeping him where he was. Christoph gave into the effect of gravity on his back and moved his lower half down to meet Oliver's, who instantly moaned and pressed his hips up against Christoph's.

Christoph had only been in a position like this a handful of times, meaning that he was nearly as sensitive as Oliver was. He tried to not to think too much about it in hopes of it fading on its own, though it became increasingly difficult once Oliver began tugging more at his shirt and becoming more acquainted to moving his tongue with Christoph's. Oliver was young and rather inexperienced, needless to say. Thankfully, Christoph wasn't very well versed in things of this nature either, leaving both of them to fumble around a bit and quickly change whatever didn't seem to be working out for them.

Heat built between them quickly as Oliver became increasingly more demanding in his need for more. Christoph was attempting to keep him at bay, but in reality, he was just as desperate as Oliver was. Withholding certain things from Oliver not only frustrated Oliver, but himself as well. Christoph was unsure of what to do. However, Oliver wasn't.

Disconnecting his lips from Christoph's, he shoved him off of him, causing Christoph to land on his side on the bed. As he opened his mouth to ask Oliver what he was doing, Oliver pressed a finger over his lips before positioning himself between Christoph's legs. With wide eyes, Christoph watched and waited for whatever Oliver was about to do.

Wordlessly, Oliver pushed Christoph's shirt up as far as he could until Christoph got the point and sat up slightly to tug it off the rest of the way. Once he had discarded it to the floor, he turned his attention back to Oliver, who was staring in awe at the other man's body. Christoph blushed within an instant, his heart racing in his chest.

"You look at me as if I was sculpted by the Gods," Christoph mumbled softly.

"I believe you were," Oliver said, "You're so beautiful, Christoph. You're such a beautiful man."

Before Christoph knew it, Oliver was running his hands up the length of his abdomen as he leaned in to press kisses over his hips and the v-line in between them. Christoph gasped, his head falling back against the pillow and his eyes closing. He never knew that having someone's lips against that area of his body could feel as heavenly as it did then. How Oliver knew that this felt good, Christoph didn't know, but he wasn't going to question it too much. He couldn't, after all. The moment that Oliver reached up and began brushing his thumbs over Christoph's nipples, Christoph was putty in his hands.

Oliver cherished his body as if it were holy communion and he had been sinning the day he was born. He left wet trails of kisses up and down Christoph's stomach and nipped his way across his groin, starting at one hipbone and ending at the other. Christoph felt blood rush between his legs the longer that Oliver unraveled him stitch by stitch, causing him to blush dark red and shift beneath Oliver on the bed.

Alternating how he was situated over top of Christoph, Oliver moved up and replaced one of his thumbs with his lips to ghost them over Christoph's nipple as his hands dropped down to squeeze his hips. Christoph gasped out a soft cry of Oliver's name as Oliver nipped gently at the bud between his lips, only to flatten his tongue on it after and drag it across the surface. His brow furrowed in concentration as he then worked his tongue over Christoph's chest, earning another soft cry from Christoph, who lifted his hips up to attempt to grind them against Oliver.

"O– Ollie... Ollie, good God—" He stammered out. Clearing his throat, Christoph forced himself to raise his head and stare down at the other. Oliver looked up at him, but didn't stop what he was doing. Somehow, that only turned Christoph on more. Sighing through parted lips, his eyes rolled back as his head fell back against the pillow, his hands raising to tangle themselves in Oliver's hair. "More... Please."

Oliver couldn't help but smile when he heard Christoph begging just as he had minutes before. A part of him wanted to give Christoph a taste of his own medicine, but he was enjoying himself far too much to even think about stopping.

With that, Oliver shut his eyes again and brought his head up to Christoph's neck, where he attached his lips to the skin there and began sucking. That riled Christoph up more than anything else that Oliver had done thus far. He swallowed thick in his throat before releasing a pathetic noise of yearning. Oliver simply smiled to himself upon hearing it.

For several minutes, Oliver worked his way around Christoph's neck, leaving dark, noticeable marks in his wake. Christoph didn't even come to think of how visible they'd be the following day in the midst of it happening. He didn't care all that much, but he still wanted to be somewhat precautious. Perhaps a high collared shirt would do him some good, that is if he decided to cover up what Oliver had done to him.

By the time that Oliver was finished, Christoph was a panting mess with twitching hips and wandering hands. Oliver pulled away with swollen lips and dark eyes, looking down at Christoph as he licked over them with his tongue. Christoph had opened his eyes in time to watch, only to feel another pang of arousal slam right into him.

"You're ethereal," Christoph breathed out, his blue eyes focused on Oliver's green ones. Swallowing, he removed his hands from Oliver's hair to instead cup his cheeks in them, his thumbs brushing over the apples of them. "You're the physical embodiment of peace on Earth and you withhold all the beauty of nature."

Oliver nearly melted from what Christoph said to him. He smiled wide as he raised his hands to place them over Christoph's, wrapping his fingers around them as best as he could to squeeze them fondly.

"And I think I was meant to cross paths with you," Oliver said softly, sweetly, "Peace cannot be as such without angels, Herr Schneider. Don't be so foolish."

"A beautiful soul once told me that sometimes it's better to be foolish than it is to be rational."

As if Oliver couldn't grin any wider, Christoph was making his lips curve to their limit. Oliver scoffed softly and shook his head, brushing his fingertips over Christoph's knuckles.

"You can't use my words against me. It isn't fair."

"You leaving such obscene marks on me when you know I have classes to tend to tomorrow isn't fair, and you know it."

"Shh..." Oliver giggled and removed Christoph's hands from his face before he leaned down to place his lips against Christoph's neck again. "I'm not done anyway."

"Of course you aren't," Christoph playfully teased through a sigh. Though the feeling of Oliver mouthing along his already sensitive skin was enough to send another wave of heat over him, he was unable to stop himself from grinning. "Leave as many as you'd like."

"As many as I'd like?" Oliver repeated against his skin, "Why's that?"

Christoph bit his lip. He knew what he wanted to say, but was unsure of whether to say so or not. He watched Oliver out of the corner of his eye for a moment before he found the courage in him to voice what was on the tip of his tongue.

"Because I'm yours," Christoph said to him, "I'm yours to have and to hold, Oliver. I never want you to forget that."

Oliver stopped what he was doing when Christoph spoke. Such a thing had never been said to him nor did he believe that he'd ever hear anything like it. He raised his head to look down at Christoph, his eyes dancing across his face and features calming themselves.

"Do you really mean that?" Oliver asked, his voice small and almost shy.

Christoph nodded. "I do. I'm yours, Oliver."

"And I am yours. I'm yours."

Oliver leaned down to connect their lips just as he finished his last sentence. He kissed Christoph so desperately that one would think that Christoph was giving him the oxygen and the heartbeat that he needed to live again. One wouldn't be mistaken. Christoph would do so if he could. He'd do most anything for Oliver, even if that meant surrendering a part of himself for him.

Christoph was indebted to Oliver. He didn't know how it had happened so fast, but he wasn't going to turn it away now. He belonged to Oliver, just as Oliver belonged to him, and that was how it needed to be until their time together ended.


	7. Sieben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flake gets better, I promise.

## Sieben.

Once again, Paul was at the hospital. It eased him knowing that he was in Richard's presence, but not by much. He couldn't seem to rid himself of the overbearing amount of rage bubbling within him. He didn't want to have to do this to save Richard's life. He shouldn't have had to. He nor Richard should've had to go through something like. If it weren't for people like the late Frau Lindemann, her son, and Doktor Lorenz, he and Richard could be waking up beside one another at the moment. Thanks to them, Paul was currently waiting to be seen by Doktor Lorenz whilst Richard laid God knows where in that very same building.

Paul wished that there was another way to do this, but he couldn't very well kill Doktor Lorenz and Till Lindemann. That would only land him in jail and even more secluded from Richard. If this failed, however, Paul would most definitely be taking things into his own hands.

His gray eyes flickered around the details of the hospital. The paint on the walls was a light shade of gray atop a color of green that made Paul sick to his stomach. On his journey to this particular corridor, he had passed a plethora of windows, ones that let in enough sunlight to nearly blind him as they bounced off the snow outside. The view typically would've been one that Paul enjoyed, but due to his annoyance and his itch to get things over and done with, he couldn't care less about it.

Thankfully, Paul didn't have to wait much longer. A lanky, wide eyed man made his way down the hallway, his hands clasped nervously in front of himself. Paul turned to see him and was instantly filled with an overwhelming desire to attack him—to jump on him and inflict all the pain that he put onto others on him. This man wasn't the young, gangly boy that Paul had attended school with all those years ago. This was a murderer. This was a monster.

It took Paul a moment to force himself to grin warmly at his former pupil. He straightened himself and forced his hand out to the other when he approached, offering a downwards nod of his head.

"Doktor Lorenz," he began, willing his voice to sound rounded and polite rather than blunt and fierce, "It's been a long while since we've seen one another."

Doktor Lorenz looked Paul up and down suspiciously. The man looked familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on where he knew him from. However, the memory didn't seem pleasant. A frown curved his lips as a hum came from the back of his throat, eyeing Paul's hand prior to extending his own.

"Forgive me, but I don't seem to remember you," he spoke, his voice low and muddled, "Who are you?"

"Heiko Hiersche," Paul said, "But these days, I go by Paul Landers."

The look of disdain on the taller man's face only deepened. The name rang a bell. He knew exactly why.

—

_"’I once met a man,  
Who was as tall as the sky—  
He could reach the stars,  
But never asked why._

__

_I once met a pupil,  
Who was as tall as a tree—  
He could touch the leaves,  
But only when green._

__

_I once met a boy,  
Who was as tall as a house—  
He could hit the walls,  
But seldom would fall.’"_

Before the classroom, Paul paused. A smirk curved his lips as his fiery eyes met those of a young Doktor Lorenz, who then went by the name Flake. The unsuspecting student watched with pursed lips and a pleading look in his gaze. He could only imagine what would be coming next with the poetry that Paul had written for their assignment. No matter the task, Paul always went out of his way to antagonize him. This wouldn't be any different, Flake knew.

And he was right.

_"’I once met a Flake,  
Who was as tall as a giraffe—  
He could escape the sick,  
But looked like an idiot.’"_

"Herr Hiersche!" The professor scolded. Paul snickered and looked away from Flake with a triumphant look on his face. Exhausted with his student's antics, the professor threw his arm towards the door of the room, yelling, "Into the hallway, now! Your behavior is unacceptable!"

"I followed the prompt, Herr Schmidt!" Paul insisted, begrudgingly making his way to the door nevertheless, "We were told to write a poem about the beauty of nature. I did so, and I did so well."

"You addressed Herr Lorenz as an idiot. That is not acceptable!"

"Who says idiots can't be beautiful?"

"Out!" Herr Schmidt bellowed, shaking his hand with his index finger extended towards the door, "Get out!"

Paul simply smirked and grabbed his belongings from his desk. Looking over his shoulder at Flake, he caught sight of him and winked before turning back around to start for the door, ignoring their professor as he continued to yell at him. The other students in the classroom had settled down and sat in silence, though a few dared to watch Paul as he sauntered out into the hallway with a certain stride in his step.

Flake crossed his arms on his desk and lowered his head to rest it upon them. Perhaps if he kept his face buried into the table long enough, he would vanish. Maybe people would forget that he was even there at all. Flake was content with both outcomes, solely because Paul wouldn't be able to do anything to him if that were the case.

—

"What interest do you have in any of my doings?" Flake asked. He sat in the chair behind his desk in his office with Paul sitting across from him. Paul was glancing around, taking in his surroundings and ogling over the various degrees, books, and awards that were displayed. When Paul didn't respond, Flake spoke again, a hint of irritation in his voice, "I asked you a question."

"Pardon? Oh." Paul snapped his head back towards with Flake and cleared his throat. Even looking at him made him furious. It was why he had been scanning the room instead of facing him. Now that their eyes were locked and Paul was expected to speak, he only felt angrier. However, he kept his feelings at bay and smiled at the other. "I'm here because I was wondering if you had any information on the history of medicine. You see, I'm a history professor—"

"You?" Flake asked, doubt and surprise written across his features, " _You_ are a professor?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," Paul nearly bit out. Widening his grin to stop himself from acting out of line, he continued, "I teach at Beelitz Gymnasium."

"Ah. Till has never mentioned—" Flake stopped himself immediately. His cheeks grew red as he ducked his head and fumbled with his words in attempt to recant his statement.

Paul couldn't stop the smirk from twitching at his lips. So the rumors had been true. He figured as much, but he had never paid much attention to them, given his time was spent covering up his own affair with another man.

"Till never mentioned you either," Paul said to save Flake from an insistent amount of stuttering and stammering, "I don't speak to him much at all, but from what I've heard, or what I haven't heard, I should say, Till makes no comments about you, unless they're about your work."

"What else about would they be in regard to?" Flake asked harshly, "Till and I are colleagues. That is the extent of our relationship."

"I think you're leaving out kissing and having sex, but sure."

Flake tightened his jaw and stared at Paul with daggers shooting from his gaze. It shocked Paul momentarily, but he quickly brushed it off and opted to grin at him again.

"What do you want? What are you here for?" Flake asked, his voice on the brink of snapping into a yell, "If you've come here to make my life miserable like you did during our years in school, I suggest you leave before I have you escorted off the premises."

"I'm here to learn." Paul leaned in and rested his arms on the desk, crossed over one another. "My history books never say much about how people were treated for things such as the Black Plague. It wiped out nearly one third of Europe's population yet we only have a few records of how it was treated."

"Well, Paul, I wasn't alive back then, contrary to your past statements about me looking like a skeleton that's been walking around since the dawn of man."

Paul wanted badly to giggle from his past joke, but refrained from doing so. He hadn't been wrong, but perhaps he had been predicting his own future. He was now wandering around with what was essentially a skeleton, that being Oliver. Granted, he hadn't been around since mankind came into existence, but the foretelling was enough for him.

"I'm sorry I said those things about you. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I would like you to know that I deeply regret being so rude and cruel to you in my youth." That was a lie. "I was immature and insecure with myself. It was a foolish and heartless way to try to build confidence in myself. I'm very sorry that you were the victim that I chose to claim when it came to my doings and actions."

That wasn't a lie, excluding the last statement.

Flake shifted behind the desk and swallowed softly. He had never expected an apology from Paul. For years, he had held a grudge against him for what he had done to them when they attended school with one another. It was two decades ago, yet he still hung onto it day in and day out. Paul made his already difficult life that much harder to deal with. He would be lying if he said that some nights he didn't contemplate ending his own life because of what he had to endure not only within his family, but at school as well because of Paul.

He didn't want to accept Paul's apology. He wasn't going to nor was he planning on doing so anytime soon. However, hearing Paul address his past actions made Flake believe that he had moved on from such things. They were adults now and Paul seemed to act as one, for the most part. He wasn't going to go out of his way to befriend Paul by any means, but he figured that he could lend him a hand in his studies. After that, Paul would leave and he would never have to think about him ever again.

"You can borrow some of my books," Flake said through a mumble, "They should provide you with the information that you need for your lessons."

"Thank you, though... I was wondering if you'd be open to showing me a few things," Paul pressed. He was now walking on thin ice. He had to calculate each word and turn of his carefully, lest Flake somehow discover his true intentions. Smiling politely, he asked, "The anatomy professor at Beelitz Gymnasium has agreed to co-host a class with me. It's going to cover past forms of medical treatment and medicines. He's sought out help from another physician to learn more about this topic, but since our classes don't line up, I'm unable to see the physician when he does. That's why I've come to you."

"You think I'm not busy with my own doings?"

"No, I'm sure you are. Just take it as a form of flattery. I think you're very intelligent. You were three years ahead in your studies, Doktor Lorenz. If you weren't, we wouldn’t have shared any classes."

Flake didn't say anything for a long moment. He knew well of what he was doing behind closed doors and was sure that he couldn't trust Paul enough to keep his mouth shut if he were to show him what he was doing. He also knew that Richard, a patient of his, also taught at Beelitz Gymnasium. If Paul recognized him by chance, he could flee the hospital and spread word of what he was truly doing. Flake couldn't risk it, but he also couldn't risk turning Paul away with an excuse that could potentially backfire. 

Biting his lower lip nervously, Flake looked everywhere but Paul as he thought. He could turn Paul away and shove a pile of books into his arms before sending him on his way or he could give Paul what he wanted and then not have to worry about Paul pressing him for more answers as to why he couldn't shadow him. Flake sighed through his nose and looked to the picture of Till and his mother that he had on his desk.

Frau Lindemann had always scared him. There were times when she would raise her hand to him, only to intimidate him and cow him into obedience. He feared her more than he feared his own mother, even though she was much more brutal with her punishments. Frau Lindemann, however, was a woman who knew what she wanted. Flake knew that from the start. It was quickly proved by her idea to take blood from healthy and somewhat healthy patients in the hospital that Flake worked at to give it to her son in hopes that it would cure him. Flake never wanted to have any part in her doings. He deemed them as wrong and saw them as activities that were against his morals.

He fought as long as he could to convince Frau Lindemann that there were other ways to help Till. He spent hours and days researching countless topics to show her that were different ways to potentially cure her son, but none had been good enough for her. It seemed as if once she got the idea of harming others for her son's wellbeing got stuck in her head, it was all that she could think about. It was then that Flake knew that she'd stop at nothing to ensure her son's health. She also knew that since Flake feared her, he would do what was asked of her. From then on, Flake, who was nothing but looked down upon and used solely because he had fallen in love with Till and she was against their relationship, became the main pawn in her game. Her effects on him lasted so long that even now, years after her death, Flake couldn't find enough strength to pull away from what he was doing. To make matters worse, Till had fallen right into her trap and believed that what they were doing was curing him, when in reality, it only made him worse at times and otherwise kept him a neutral state of health.

"I'll allow it," Flake decided, his eyes wide and reflecting a faint look of pain in them, "But only if you agree to work with corpses. We will not be performing any procedures on living or comatose patients."

Paul wanted to throw himself across the desk the moment that Flake spoke, but refrained from doing so. Swallowing thick in his throat, Paul nodded quickly, an amused, almost irritated, look on his face.

"But of course," Paul said, his voice strung tight, "I wouldn't allow such a thing anyway. I have morals."

Flake flinched from the statement. Paul smirked upon seeing it. He had made the comment so slyly that Flake couldn't respond to it otherwise.

"We can begin tomorrow," Flake deflected, "I have attire here for you to wear. Just bring anything you feel you'll need and we can go from there."

"That sounds fantastic. Thank you very much, Doktor Lorenz. I appreciate the gesture." As Flake shrugged off Paul's statement, he opened a drawer in his desk and began to sift through it. Paul watched for a moment as he bit the tip of his tongue and bounced his leg, unable to stop himself from voicing his thoughts, "A fellow professor of mine was admitted here about a month or so ago. His name is Sven Kruspe. Do you know how he's doing?"

Flake tensed and shut his eyes upon hearing that. Guilt slammed into him with the force of a gust of wind in the midst of a storm and left him unsteady. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Flake shut the drawer and sat up in his chair, his eyes focused on his hands in his lap.

"He's doing okay..." Flake began, his voice unsteady and his hands twitching, "He's... very sick. I'm hoping he makes a full recovery."

"As do I," Paul said lowly, glaring softly at Flake, "He's a very nice man. He has much to live for. I hear he plans on marrying soon."

"O– Oh? Is that so?"

Paul hummed with a nod of his. Pursing his lips together, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, one over the other. 

"It is. It's funny because..." Scoffing, Paul flicked his eyebrows up and gazed at Flake hard enough to earn his attention. Once their eyes locked, Flake was better off paralyzed. He couldn't move, as even as Paul spoke in a cool, controlled tone of voice, "He's marrying me. That's who he'll be marrying. I'm sure you can imagine the amount of stress I've been under for a month now, Doktor Lorenz. I haven't been able to visit him because I'm afraid of anyone assuming anything or, God forbid, discovering that we are in a relationship. I saw him the other day and fell apart in front of him. To go about my days without him is the worst pain imaginable, though I know that if he passes, the hurt I feel now will be nothing in comparison to that. I can only hope that my boy is getting the best care here. Isn't that what you would want for your loved one if they got sick?"

Paul knew that what he had said was dangerous and risky, but it had to be said. To assert his dominance, he had to evoke a fear in Flake that he wouldn't be able to forget. It also trapped him where he was, which Paul liked most.

Anxiety coursed throughout Flake and ignited each and every vein like a wildfire. He doubted that Paul knew what he was doing, but hearing him confess his love for a patient of his, which happened to be another man, struck a chord within him. It hit too close to home for his liking. He couldn't imagine how broken he would be and feel if his beloved Till were to die. He knew that the day would come, but that didn't mean that he wanted it to. At least with Till, he knew that there was a possibility that he could die at any given moment due to how sick he was. Paul didn't have that when it came to Richard. Richard had fallen ill so quickly and Paul was given no time to come to terms with it before Richard was admitted to the hospital and forcibly held away from him. Flake didn't know how he would feel if he were in Paul's position. He reckoned he would fall apart. How Paul hadn't was a mystery to him.

"I'll do whatever I can to save him," Flake said truthfully. Rather than looking away, he kept his gaze trained on Paul's as he laid his hands out flat on the desk, as if surrend them and himself to Paul. "I'm very sorry that he's so ill."

"Yeah," Paul bit out, "So am I."

Rather than staying to do nothing but sit in awkward silence, Paul rose from his chair with a sigh being exhaled through his nose. Flake did nothing. There was nothing he could do, he felt.

"I'll come by tomorrow after my classes so we can get started," Paul said, "Thank you again, Doktor Lorenz."

"Flake. You can call me, Flake."

"Alright, then. Thank you, Flake. We'll reconvene tomorrow."

With that, Paul tugged his coat around himself and walked out of Flake's office, leaving him to sit with his head in his hands and his heart in his throat.


	8. Acht.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It pains me that they were so cute before they became corrupted.
> 
> Also, things get a little spicy again!

## Acht.

"Have you taken your medicine today?"

"I don't need it. I feel fine."

"You always need your medicine. It's a precaution, Till."

"One that I won't be taking today because I feel fine."

As Till sat at the table, as stubborn as ever, eating his breakfast, he watched as Flake sighed and looked away with a shake of his head. Flake wouldn't listen to him, mostly because he was just as stubborn as Till was.

"Here," he said as he reached out to lay the medicine onto the table despite Till's protests, "At least think about taking it. I don't want you to get another cold. There's a storm coming in, I heard. It's better to guard yourself against a potential flu than it is to suffer from one."

"Why?" Till snorted. "Are you afraid I'll die? If I haven't yet, I'm sure one day with no medicine won't be what kills me."

Flake's face fell. He deadpanned as he stared at Till, his tone unamused and flat as he spoke, "Yes, I'm afraid that you'll die. I love you and I'd prefer it if you were alive."

Till glanced up from the eggs he was eating and raised his eyebrows at Flake. Flake knew better than to look away from Till. He found that if he stared at him with as much intensity as he could muster, Till would eventually break and do what Flake either wanted or expected from him.

Several seconds passed before Till sighed in defeat with a shake of his head and reached out to grab the medicine. "Fine, I'll take the damn medicine. You don't have to worry about me so much—"

"Yes, I do," Flake protested, his voice louder than usual, "I love you and I don't want anything to happen to you. Is that so bad?"

Till noticed the shift in Flake's dynamic and mood, and quickly took the medicine. After swallowing it down with his cup of his coffee, he rose from his seat at the table and stood beside Flake. 

"Hey." Reaching out, he placed his hand on Flake's side and squeezed it softly, his eyes searching his face in attempt to decipher what he was feeling in that moment. "Is everything alright? You seem upset today."

Flake couldn't say a word, mostly because he didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell Till about Paul and what he said about Richard. If he did so, he would end up saying that he now felt inclined to stop working on Richard. Till would undoubtedly become upset if Flake were to tell him that.

Shaking his head, Flake sniffled and looked down. "It's just a bad day for me. I can't explain why."

"Did something happen at the hospital?"

"No."

"Did you have nightmares last night?"

"No."

"Do you feel like you might be getting sick."

"No."

"Then what is it?" Till pressed, "Can I do anything to help?"

"Just... don't die," Flake whispered to him. Bringing his gaze up to meet Till's, Flake felt emotions build up in him quickly. Nearly shuddering from the feeling, Flake placed his hands on Till's side lightly to prohibit them from shaking as badly as they wanted to. The mere feeling of Till's warm skin through the thin material of his shirt against Flake's palms was enough to calm him. Sighing, he lowered his head to rest his forehead on his shoulder, shutting his eyes as he stepped forward towards Till. "I can't live without you. I know you've scolded me for saying something like that before, but it's the true."

"Why are you thinking about death so much today, my love? Hm?" Till wrapped his arms around Flake's lanky form. Flake had been always tall and frail. The man had little to no muscle to him, whereas Till was very built and much thicker than him. Flake often said that he wished that he looked like Till, even though Till would spend hours telling Flake that he believed that he was perfect how he was. "Nothing will happen to me. I have the best doctor in the world caring for me."

"There's only so much I can do, Till." The statement was broad—relating not only to what Till said, but to how Flake was feeling about the experiments he was conducting. "I'm sorry."

With pursed lips, Till frowned. He raised his hand and ran it through Flake's hair, caressing the back of his head tenderly as he began swaying them from side to side. Flake did nothing but relax and sink into Till's embrace from that.

Till knew well that Flake dealt with anxiety that did nothing but paralyze him some days. He wished he knew as much as Flake did when it came to medicine and treatment to try and help him, but he didn't. All he could offer Flake during those moments was himself, his love, and whatever else Flake felt he needed or wanted. Till wished that he could take Flake's mental burdens away from him, just as Flake was attempting to rid him of his physical illnesses. There were times where Till felt useless to Flake, though he never said so. He did what he could for Flake—or rather, he did as much as Flake would allow him to.

"How about you stay home today?" Till proposed, "You can spend the day with me. We can make the tea you like so much and lay in bed."

"I really shouldn't. There's no one to care for my patients."

"If you must go in, just check on them quickly then come home." Till brushed his nose through Flake's hair and kissed his forehead several times, his green eyes shut and light amount of facial hair scratching against Flake's skin. "I don't think it's in your best interest to be there all day today. There's always tomorrow."

"I know, but—"

"None of that, Flake. You deserve a day to yourself."

Flake hadn't the energy to fight with Till. He admitted defeat with a nod then sighed through his nose as he broke away from Till, sheepish in the act of glancing up to meet his gaze.

"I'll be back in an hour," Flake told him, "And please take your medicine."

Till smiled softly. "I will. I love you."

"I love you, too."

—

Naked, Flake and Till lay in Till's bed, their hands seemingly glued to one another and their gazes focused solely on the other's. Light from that morning's sunrise shone down upon them from outside, coming in through the window, its curtains drawn back to let the sun rays in. Till smiled at Flake, his thumb caressing the apple of his sharply sculpted cheek and his legs tangling with Flake's. Flake blushed dark red and emitted a soft giggle under his breath, wrapping his skinny arms around Till's much bigger frame to trace the length of his spine with his fingertips.

Flake had met Till just a month prior. When shadowing a physician, Till had come in, suffering from complications of a heart condition that he had. Their eyes met within seconds and Till had come to a stop in the doorway. His mother noticed how he stilled and ushered him into the room quickly. Flake grew flustered and dropped his head, too anxious to lift his gaze lest it meet the other man's again.

Till was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Though he was pale and very sickly with sweat matting his hair to his forehead, his green eyes were as bright as the northern lights. He was a very muscular man, despite his condition. His arms and legs were thick, and his stomach was nicely toned with hair starting from his chest and leading all the way down below his pants. Flake nearly choked when Till removed his shirt, not only because of his body, but because Till had boldly looked at him and dared to smirk.

Flake was just twenty-one then, with Till being twenty-four. The physician explained to Flake that Till was a frequent patient of his. He handed the aspiring doctor Till's paperwork and ran him through everything that he suffered and dealt with. Flake could hardly believe it. Though it was obvious that Till was in poor health, he didn't act as such. He was very charming and flirtatious, and in very good spirits. His mother, however, was much different. She was a serious woman who stood up straight and carried herself with her shoulders squared and her chin raised. Flake was intimidated by her immediately, but chose not to look at her. Her son was far more welcoming.

Till visited several times over the following week. The physician began allowing Flake to have his hand at taking Till's vitals. When Till had come alone one day and the physician stepped out of the room, Till looked down at Flake whilst he took his pulse and smiled.

"I'm attracted to you," he said fearlessly. Flake audibly choked on his own saliva, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as they flicked up to meet Till's. Even with a red face, Till still found Flake to be the prettiest man he had ever seen. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take you home with me."

"I– I'm working," Flake stammered nervously, "I– I can't— I can't just leave."

"Then I'll wait for you," Till insisted, "When you're finished, you can come home with me."

"Don't you live with your mother?"

"Yes, but she's the headmistress at Beelitz Hauptschule. Due to it being the first week back after a six week break, she's been gone. She will for the next five days." Till smirked, raking his gaze up and down Flake's body from where he was crouching down beside him. "I'd hate to be so lonely, _Doktor_. Do you think you could pay me some company?"

Flake didn't have to think twice about his answer. He nodded and swallowed hard, retracting the stethoscope from Till and pulling it out of his ears.

"If you insist," he whispered sheepishly, "Anything to ensure that someone's in good health and good hands."

From then on, they had been inseparable. Whenever possible, they would see one another outside of Flake's apprenticeship and whenever Till's mother wasn't around. They snuck around as if they were scandalous teenagers, though neither minded in the slightest.

Now they were sharing Till's bed, basking in the sunlight and kissing as Till pinned Flake down against the mattress. Though he was sick, he always took charge. He was careful as to not hurt Flake, and Flake trusted him. He cared very much for Flake and would do most anything for him, even if that meant easing up on him during their most intimate moments. There was a lot that Flake could handle, but Till was a force to be reckoned with. There were some things that Flake had to prohibit in order to keep Till both in line and sane.

Flake squirmed beneath Till, breathless and panting as Till ravaged his mouth with his tongue. Just as he had been only hours before, he had engulfed himself into Flake—Flake's legs pushed up and back with Till's hands in the crooks of his knees to keep him at an angle. Flake could hardly think or react. He was still sensitive from how rough Till had been during the middle of the night when they both happened to wake up at the same time, which was after their first two rounds of love making. Till was insatiable that day, but Flake didn't mind.

Their connection and chemistry had been instant and had done nothing but grow during the time that they spent together. Flake was slowly but surely falling in love with Till, and Till had already said that he loved him. Flake tried to convince him that it was too soon to be so sure of such a thing, to which Till said that he had never been more sure of anything in his life. Even if Flake wanted to further slow down the process of falling in love with Till, he couldn't. Till loved him so tenderly, so uniquely, and gave him his all at all times. Though Flake wasn't very experienced with something like this, he was sure that nobody else in the world was like Till. He believed him to be his soulmate. He thought he was meant to find Till.

Till's name fell from Flake's lips like a desperate prayer to God Himself, though He was surely turned away from Flake and Till's actions. Flake pressed his head back against the pillows and released a long whine, his dull nails pressing into Till's skin and raking themselves down his biceps. Till shuddered on top of him and dropped one hand to Flake's waist to grasp it firmly and jerk him back into the movements of his body. This only lured louder sounds out of the typically quiet doctor. Till felt accomplished whenever he managed to do something like this to and for Flake. It was a release for the both of them in their own ways and it brought them closer together.

Both felt themselves approaching the end of their love making for the morning. Flake was gasping out pleas and cries of Till's name as Till desperately pulled Flake closer to him and growled out his name deeply from the back of his throat. Neither were in touch with reality around them. They were simply alone in that moment.

With Till pressing himself completely against and into Flake, both hit their high. The sun cast its golden light down on them as their lips met in a kiss that alone drove all of the clouds out of the sky that day. Till released Flake's waist and grabbed his hand, squeezing it as he intertwined their fingers together and held Flake close to him as arousal spread like a wildfire throughout their bodies, both where they were conjoined and all the down to their toes and up to their heads. Flake wrapped his arms around Till, his body moving gracefully with a breathtaking display of desire and passion to accommodate Till's movements.

They finished and Till lowered himself onto Flake, who broke his leg free of his grasp to plant his shaky feet down on the bed. He held Till to him as he kissed over his neck, shoulder, jaw, and cheek, whispering sweet nothings to him as his lanky fingers swept through his sweaty locks of dark hair. Till pressed wet, hot kisses across Flake's prominent bones, mouthing over them as he repeated again and again that he loved him more than the moon loved its pull on the oceans.

"Marry me," Till said suddenly, "Marry me and run away with me."

"We can't run away," Flake said, "You aren't well."

"Then let me die in solidarity with only you at my side. Not my mother, not my physician. Just you and I, away from everything we've ever had to deal with."

"We can't do that, Till," Flake whispered, his lips against Till's ear, "You know that."

"Then at least marry me," Till compromised, "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

"It's illegal. We would be killed if we did more than fantasize about such a thing."

"There has to be some way for us to get married. There has to be someone who will do it for us."

"I don't know, Till. It's dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Till raised his head and looked down at Flake. He looked so beautiful with his wide eyes and his large nose. His lips were uniquely shaped, albeit thin, and his jaw had an interesting curvature to it. All in all, Flake was far from being conventionally attractive, however, he was perfect to Till.

"Then let's marry in our own way," Till said, his eyes searching Flake's face, "Let's make it our own thing."

Flake couldn't help but grin at Till. "How would we do that?"

"We can... slice our palms open and hold hands as we vow to spend our lives with one another. Then we can make sweet love under the moon and the stars, on the beach by a lake. We can become one with nature and each other."

"Mm... That sounds... perfect." Flake sighed softly and ran his hand through Till's hair, his thumb brushing over his temple as he smiled fondly at him. "We can get married. I'll be yours."

"Do you love me?"

"What?"

"Do you love me?" Till asked again, "You can't marry me if you don't love me."

"Of course, I do," Flake said softly, "That's why I'm marrying you."

"Say it," Till pressed, "I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

"That you love me?"

"But—"

"Nope. Say it, Christian 'Flake' Lorenz. Tell me that you love me."

"Wouldn't it be more romantic if I said it for the first time on our wedding night?"

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"I'm not, I just love you."

Flake grinned widely immediately after speaking. It took Till a few seconds to catch onto what had happened, but when he did, he smiled so bright that it put the sun itself to shame.

"You love me," Till said, his voice happy and elated, "You really love me."

"I do. I love you."

"Save those words for the wedding, Flake."

"But you just told me to say them!"

"Now I've changed my mind. Don't say them until we're married."

Rolling his eyes playfully, Flake swatted one of Till's broad shoulders and shook his head. "Fine. I hate you."

"That's much better," Till chuckled out, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I hate you, too."

"I hate you more. You can't top that."

"Yes, I can. I hate you most."

Rather than arguing with Till, Flake merely smiled before grabbing Till by the back of his neck to connect their lips in another kiss. Till laughed softly against Flake's lips before returning the kiss, his other hand now finding Flake's to pin it to the bed, just like the other one was. That's all Till wanted to do. He just wanted to have Flake in his grasp at all times—the reason being that Flake made everything, even the worst bouts of pain, bearable. Flake was the only antidote he needed. Flake was his cure.


	9. Neun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver could be a POET. KING.
> 
> Spicy stuff! Reminder that ghosts also suffer from erectile dysfunction, solely because they don’t have blood flow and therefore cannot get hard. The more you know.

## Neun.

A week passed and Paul had spent many nights with Flake at Beelitz-Heilstätten. Flake was tense and rather quiet the first couple nights and hardly spoke a word to Paul, unless it had to do with what he was teaching him. He still hadn't discovered that Paul had lied to him and that the information wasn't needed at all. Paul happened to play along so well that Flake didn't have any suspicions about whether his presence was harmless or not. It pained Paul to spend so much time with the man that was currently in the midst of attempting to kill his lover, but he knew that it needed to be done. All he had to do was spend a few more evenings with him before he caved and completely trusted Paul enough to tell him about the extents of his work. Until then, Paul could power through. If it weren't for his undying love for Richard, it would be much harder. He was doing this mostly for him, after all.

Thus far, Flake had told Paul of the main causes of the Black Plague, how it had initially spread, and what was done to prevent it. Paul found it intriguing, though he hated that Flake was the one to be telling him all of this. Along with that, Flake also told him of ways that they attempted to cure patients who had come down with the plague. It was only after Paul's permission and willingness that Flake showed him a bit of what would be done to people on corpses of those who had donated their bodies to science or had given the hospital permission to use them once they passed. Paul was unfazed whilst standing next to a dead body, which surprised Flake at first. However, when Paul had nonchalantly stated that he had stumbled upon his friend's dead body when he was seventeen, Flake understood his tolerance, even though he was taken aback by how quickly Paul had opened up.

From then on, Paul told Flake of more instances from his childhood and adult life. It was an attempt to ease Flake out of the shell that he was burrowed in. Though Paul wasn't one to share much of his personal life, he reckoned that doing so would speed up the process of gaining Flake's trust. Slowly but surely, it began working.

"Can I admit something to you?" Flake asked, his voice shaking from his rising nerves.

Paul glanced up from what he was writing down from one of the books that Flake had lent him and nodded once. "Sure. What is it?"

Flake almost couldn't bring himself to speak. Never had he told anyone that he and Till were together. It was too much of a risk. He could lose his job and his license if he weren't careful. Jail time was also possibility, and that was something that neither Flake or Till would be able to handle—Flake due to his anxiety and Till because of his health issues.

Biting his lower lip, Flake anxiously tapped his foot against the floor as he blurted out what was on the tip of his tongue, "The rumors are true— The ones regarding Herr Lindemann and I." He paused. Paul raised his brows and brought his head up to watch as Flake confessed to him. "We... We are a... couple. We have been, for quite some time now."

"How long?" Paul asked, propping his elbow up on the desk and resting his cheek on his fist, "Did you meet him when we were in school?"

Flake shook his head. "No. I met him during my apprenticeship with a physician he was seeing."

"How old were you?"

"I was... twenty-one. He was twenty-four."

Paul smirked softly and scoffed through his nose. "Sounds like it'd make for an interesting love story. Have you been with him since?"

"Yes. We've been together for thirteen years." Flake then glanced down at his hand. Stretching his fingers out, he looked at the long, jagged scar that ran across his palm. Smiling to himself, he pressed the pad of his thumb to the center of it, saying, "Some might even say we're married."

Paul glanced down at Flake's hand and noticed the scar on it. He felt ashamed that a part of him liked the idea of doing such a thing in place of an official marriage, but only because it had been done by Flake and Till. Sighing softly, Paul allowed himself to smile sadly with a nod.

"I think I'd say so, too."

Falling silent for a moment, Paul began thinking. Would he ever marry Richard? He still didn't know nowadays. Though it had been all that he was able to think about, he was unsure if fate would even allot them the time for it to happen. According to Flake, Richard was beginning to stabilize, but even then, there was a chance that his conditions could worsen suddenly. He expressed fear that Richard had the potential to slip into a coma if he weren't careful enough in his doings. Paul had nearly cried upon hearing that, but stood his ground for his sake and Richard's, even though he knew not of what was happening.

Richard was only awake for about an hour or so a day. Flake stated that he tried to lure Richard out of his spells of deep sleep, but to little or no avail. Richard was simply too weak for stay conscious for more than five or ten minutes at a time. Even if he was given medicine, he would fall back asleep and stay like that for hours. It concerned Flake, but not by much. If it worsened to the point of where Richard stayed asleep for days, further action would need to be taken. Until then, all he could do was attempt to ease Richard into consciousness whenever he deemed fit.

Paul prayed day by day and night by night for Richard to make a full recovery. He even swore to God that he would surrender his own health to give it to Richard. If him being miserable would ensure Richard's health, he would battle every ailment under the sun for the rest of his life. Richard didn't deserve to be so sick. He had never done anything to warrant a destiny such as this. Paul, on the other hand, believed that he himself had. He thought that he should've been the one to fall sick. He had done many bad things throughout his life. It was only fitting that he be punished for such things.

As if Flake could read Paul's mind, he frowned, saying, "Richard will recover. I'm doing all that I can to save him."

Paul, whose throat was too tight for him to talk, nodded and looked away. Even the mention of his lover's name pushed him towards the brink of chaos. Why couldn't Richard feel better? Why couldn't Flake do more? Why was this happening to him? To them?

Shutting the book that was in front of him, Paul cleared his throat as best as he could before rising from his chair in front of Flake's desk, saying lowly, "I can only hope. I think it's time for me to retire for the evening."

"Wait." Paul stopped what he was doing and looked at Flake through the tears that were welling up in his eyes. For a moment, he swore that he saw remorse and guilt etch themselves across Flake's features, but before he could get a second glance, the look was gone and he was met with the same awkward expression that Flake always wore. "If you're free tomorrow night, you can come by again. We can have a drink, if you'd like."

Hearing that immediately brought Paul out of the mood he had fallen into. Flake had done little to approach him about anything that didn't have to do with what he was teaching him about and what Paul prompted him to talk about, which showed Paul that he was growing more comfortable with him. He masked his shock and relief as much as he could by keeping the tears in his eyes as he looked down at Flake.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to," Paul said softly, sniffling after, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Flake offered him a smile before allowing Paul to excuse himself. As Paul left with his belongings both in his satchel and in his arms, he bit down on his lower lip to prohibit himself from grinning as a triumphant feeling of glee washed over him. After what felt like an entire year, this chapter of their predicament was coming to an end. Paul felt as if he could finally relax, even if just a bit.

—

"Christoph, you really shouldn't have another drink, you've already had four!"

"What's one more?! I'm already drunk!"

"That's why you shouldn't have another!"

Christoph scoffed at Oliver as he poured himself another glass of scotch. Oliver watched from the bed with a playful frown and faux look of judgment on his face. It had been Christoph's idea to spend the evening drunk. Since Oliver couldn't very well become intoxicated, Christoph was alone in the little shindig he was throwing for himself, with Oliver doing nothing but watching over him to make sure he didn't hurt himself by being too clumsy or too drunk to make rational decisions.

With a grimace, Christoph snapped his head back and downed the scotch from his glass. He pulled the glass away with a sharp exhale and a stumble, which immediately drew Oliver out of bed.

"Christoph, you have to sit down now," Oliver told him, "You're going to fall if you stay standing for much longer."

"I'm not going to fall, I'm a very sophisticated man. I belong on my feet," Christoph rambled.

"Well, right now, you are a very drunk man and you need to sit. If you want, you can keep your feet on the floor, though. Just sit down."

Christoph groaned in protest, but did as Oliver said. Plopping himself down onto the bed, with Oliver steadying him and preventing him from bouncing off of the mattress and landing on the floor, he sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt from the top.

"It's warm in here," he mumbled, "I need to change."

"I think it's just the alcohol," Oliver said through a soft laugh. Watching Christoph fumble with the buttons to his shirt, he snickered before moving his hands out of the way gently to unbutton his shirt himself. "Here, let me help. If you get cold, tell me. We can put another shirt on you."

"I don't want another," he whined, "I'm hot."

"You are, yes, but I don't want you to get sick." Once Oliver had reached the last button, he aided Christoph in shrugging the shirt off of his shoulders. He then threw it to the floor haphazardly before turning his attention back to Christoph. "Are you going to tell me why you decided to get drunk now?"

Christoph looked at Oliver and frowned. In his right mind, he could hardly comprehend what was being said to him. The words seemed to bleed into the background as he did nothing but stare at Oliver as he sat beside him. Oliver raised his brows, waiting for any response at all from Christoph. When he wasn't given one, he spoke again.

"You came back from your classes and immediately began drinking. Did something happen?"

"No," Christoph answered, only to say a second later, "Wait. Yes. Something happened."

"What was it? Do you feel comfortable enough to tell me what it was?"

"It hit me that Richard might die and that I might not ever see him again. And... he's my friend. I don't want him to die." Christoph looked down, only to sweep his eyes up Oliver's figure after. "And you... You're going to die again soon, too. What am I supposed to do if I lose both of you? What am I to do when I lose you?"

Oliver's face slowly fell as Christoph spoke. The inevitable was approaching them and they both knew it. Oliver wished with everything that he had in him that he could defy the odds and the unspoken laws of the afterlife so that he could stay on Earth with Christoph. He didn't want to sink back into the unknown, especially because he wasn't certain as to where exactly he'd end up. The gray wasn't where he wanted to spend all of eternity. The thought alone brought a wave of chills over him. He couldn't go back there. He needed to move onto a better place if he was unable to stay with Christoph.

Guilt washed over Oliver as he sat in silence and looked at Christoph. He felt responsible for all that had happened. If he hadn't have come back, Christoph wouldn't be in the position that he was in now. He would only have to worry about Richard and how to tend to Paul during Richard's time in the hospital. That was enough as it was. Oliver knew that worrying about him as well was too much for Christoph to handle.

He didn't know what to do, though. There was nothing he could do. The only option he had was to separate himself as much as possible from Christoph, which didn't seem doable considering Oliver had nowhere else to go, unless Paul was willing to offer Oliver a space in his room to live. Even then, Oliver was unsure. Paul was going through just as much as Christoph was. Oliver felt as if he belonged nowhere but out of the picture entirely.

"Would it be so bad if I killed myself to join you once you're gone?" Christoph asked, his tone slurred and eyes unable to focus on Oliver's, due to his drunken state and the tears that had suddenly formed in them. Sniffling, his posture began to crumble as the seconds passed. "I'll feel as if I have nothing to live for once you pass again."

"You have so much to live for," Oliver assured him. Raising his hands, he cupped Christoph's cheeks and cradled him, feeling his throat tighten from the sight of Christoph breaking down before him. "You're a professor, Christoph. So many young, intelligent students look up to you because you push them to do better. You teach them the things that some will use in their line of work and others will remember for the years to come. Not only that, but you respect them as people, Christoph. Not many others do that."

"I don't want a life without you now that I've had one," Christoph whispered, "I can't imagine waking up beside anyone else but you. Even the thought of going to bed and getting out of bed alone pains me."

"I'll always be with you. Always, Christoph."

"How?" His voice broke as tears slid down his cheeks. "How will you be with me if you aren't here?"

Oliver swallowed thickly. His thumbs caught the tears that spilled from Christoph's eyes and wiped them away. With his eyes flicking between both of Christoph's, he spoke.

"I remember you telling me the other night as we fell asleep that you were taken to the opera often as a young boy. So much so that you've grown sick of it, but will return to it one day. When that day comes, Christoph, I can assure you that I'll be there. I'll be in every note, in every lyric, in every moment of passion and pain. I'll be the sound of the orchestra playing from the floor and I'll be the resonance of the highest of notes at the very top of the ceiling. I'll be there, Christoph. I always will. I'll be there as you arrive, as you sit and watch, and as you leave... And even after, I'll be with you always."

Oliver stopped momentarily. He watched as Christoph smiled weakly at him and sniffled as more tears escaped from his eyes. Oliver allowed his throat to loosen up before continuing, his voice soft and gentle with every word spoken.

"Every morning when you wake, I'll be aiding in pulling the blankets off of you. I'll be watching for danger as you walk to your classes. I'll be at the back of the room, learning and listening to you teach the young minds of the next generation. Then on your trek back here, back to our room, I'll be with you. I'll send a breeze across the soup that's far too hot for you to eat for dinner and I'll stop you from having too much to drink. As you freshen up, I'll catch the droplets of water that run off your skin and save them from hitting the floor... Then, when you finally get into bed, I'll be there to adjust your pillow so that you sleep soundly... And you know what I'll do next, Christoph? Can you guess?"

"You'll visit me in my dreams," Christoph whispered. Blinking to rid himself of the welled up tears that had built up in his eyes, he gulped and placed his hands over Oliver's to squeeze them. "You'll see me in my dreams, but will I see you?"

"You'll always see me," Oliver assured him with a gentle smile, "I'll always make myself noticeable to you. In your most pleasant of dreams and even in your worst nightmares, I'll be there for you to reach out to and see. You'll never be alone, Christoph. I promise."

Christoph sobbed softly as he lost his composure. His forehead came down to rest against Oliver's shoulder as his arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to maintain his emotions, even as they begged to be let out. He embraced Christoph tightly and rubbed his hands up and down his back, which jerked as he sobbed and breathed raggedly.

Even the pain that Doktor Lorenz put him through couldn't compare to this. Oliver knew that he would have to leave Christoph behind. For how long, he didn't know. That only made it worse. Oliver wished that he could stay with Christoph forever. He didn't want Christoph's life to end just yet, though. He had made such an impact on so many people and had such a long way to go with his career and his life. Oliver would be selfish to want it to end solely for his own benefit. He knew that Christoph's time on Earth wasn't done yet and he was fine with that. He had meant what he said. He would observe Christoph from wherever he ended up and be with him everyday. They would never be truly alone again, even once Oliver returned to the afterlife.

However, that was different from being with Christoph physically. Oliver found himself tightening his arms around Christoph as he buried his nose into his hair and kissed his head several times. He didn't want to let Christoph go. He didn't want to be without his touch nor go without the feeling of Christoph's skin beneath his fingertips. He would never be able to forget how it felt, but that would never be the same as experiencing it for himself. 

Before Oliver could speak, Christoph did so, saying, "Let me make love to you. Let me spend every hour of this evening loving and respecting you—memorizing and remembering you for when you're no longer here with me."

"You're drunk, Christoph," Oliver reminded him through a weak chuckle, "I would feel as if I'm taking advantage of you."

"I've wanted to make love to you since the night we first kissed, Oliver. I've not stopped thinking about you since then."

"I don't know how it would work. I'm unsure if I'm able to do such a thing."

"We can try," Christoph whispered to him, lifting his head to look at him. His blue irises shone brightly amongst the blacks of his pupils and the whites of his eyes. Oliver could become hypnotized by them if he stared for too long. "I want to give myself to you entirely. I want you to have my body, my heart, my mind, and my soul."

Oliver smirked softly with a playful expression on his face. "I want to give you those things, too... But I'm missing one of them."

The two shared a laugh as Christoph shook his head and sniffled, rolling his eyes at Oliver and saying, "I didn't mean literally. It was supposed to be romantic."

"Mm. It was very romantic." Grinning at him, Oliver brushed Christoph's hair out of his face and skirted his knuckles along his strong jaw after. He glanced across his face as his grin softened into a smile, simply admiring Christoph for a moment. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen, Christoph Schneider. The angels favored you."

Christoph blushed deeply from the compliment, but dejected it with a scoff. "You're only trying to fluster me."

"Not at all. I mean what I say. You're beautiful. The Heavens themselves and their beauty could not ever compare to you."

Smiling fondly at Oliver, Christoph sniffled once more before he shook his head again slowly. "Something tells me you should've been a literature professor."

"Oh, no. No, not at all. I wasn't good with academics."

"Attend a few of my classes. You could learn something scholarly."

"Oh? You, Herr Schneider, would let me attend your prestigious class? Would I be assigned plentiful amounts of work and expected to recite the most complex poems before the class?"

"You'd be expected to do much more than that," Christoph said with a smirk.

Oliver mirrored the look and asked, "Is that so? Please, tell me what you'd expect of me, then."

"Well, to start..." Righting himself, Christoph guided Oliver further back on the bed before coaxing him onto his back. He hovered over Oliver on his elbows, looking down at him and watching as Oliver grinned and stretched his long arms up and above his head to cross them. "I would expect you to look presentable everyday. If you are truly dedicated, I want you to showcase yourself appropriately to convey the message to me."

"Hmm... How could I do that?" Biting his lower lip, Oliver looked up at the ceiling on faux thought. Shifting beneath Christoph, he dared to part his legs and bend them at the knee to bring them up to Christoph's sides, effectively trapping him where he was. A confident smirk curved his lips as he brought his gazed back up at Christoph. "I could wear one of your shirts. Maybe a pair of your trousers, as well. I'd have to wear a belt with them, though, lest they fall when I go to stand."

"What a shame that would be," Christoph mused.

"It would be. What else would be expected of me?"

"To give me your all. Show me that you want to be there and immerse yourself in what I have to offer."

Humming, Oliver unraveled one arm to reach up and place his hand on the back of Christoph's neck. He pulled him down gently and tilted his head up to kiss the tip of his nose as a smile replaced his smirk.

"I always want what you have to offer," Oliver whispered to him, "Maybe I would strive to be your favorite student, Herr Schneider. Do you believe I could ever amount to such a thing?"

Christoph felt heat began to bubble inside of him as Oliver then leaned up to kiss across the angular curve of his jaw. The alcohol in his system mixed with the fireworks of arousal within him and left him much more susceptible to physical touch than usual. He groaned lowly through parted lips, bringing his lower half down to rest his hips against Oliver's.

"What would you do to earn the title as my favorite?" Christoph asked through a heavy breath, "I've never had a favorite."

"Never?" Oliver whispered against his skin. Bringing his lips to Christoph's earlobe, he bit down on it gently to take it between his lips and suck on it. Christoph flinched slightly on top of him and shuddered as he applied more pressure to Oliver's hips with his own. When Oliver was finished with nearly bruising Christoph's earlobe, he released it, only to then swipe his tongue along the shell of his ear and speak softly to him, "Then I guess I'll have to be your first favorite, Herr Schneider. I'll do everything you ask of me and do it to the best of my capability... Maybe I'll even work harder than usual, just to show you that I'm grateful for every opportunity you give me. Would that be enough for you, Herr? Or would you like me to do more?"

"More," Christoph begged and replied at the same time, his nose brushing against Oliver's cheek as he dared to rock his hips down against his, "Do more."

"I'll respect you. I'll be silent when you want me to and speak when told to. I'll only do whatever's expected of me. I'll never act out of line. I wouldn't want to be a disruption, after all. You're a man of power, Herr Schneider. You'd have control over me, would you not? Wouldn't you expect me to obey?"

"Christ," Christoph groaned. Burying his face in Oliver's neck to kiss along the now warm flesh, he bit down on it gently, earning a quiet noise and a squirm from Oliver. Speaking against his skin, he allowed his hips to move languidly against Oliver's, leading the heat burning within him to spread to every part of his body. "I would, but I wouldn't have to. I know you'd do everything I asked of you."

Oliver hummed. Though he felt what Christoph did in that moment, his body was unable to make it known. He felt ashamed suddenly and squeezed his eyes shut. Dropping his head to the pillow, he covered his face with his hands and whined.

"Stop," he said.

Just as Christoph was about to bite down on Oliver's collarbone, he stopped. Concerned, he lifted his head and looked down at him, immediately disregarding how he felt in that moment.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Oliver shook his head. Unable to bring himself to look at Christoph, he kept his hands over his face as he said, "I just... I– It's not working."

"What's not working? This?"

" _Me_ ," he said desperately, " _I'm_ not working. I can't... I– I can't—"

"You can't what? Just slow down, Oliver, it's okay. I won't judge you. I would never. I just want to make sure you're okay and comfortable."

"I'm okay and comfortable and I love this, but I can't—" Removing his hands from his face, he gestured down between the two of them and said, "Look at you and then look at me. I can't... do what you're doing."

Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, Christoph looked down between their bodies to pinpoint what Oliver was talking about. It took him a moment to figure out what the problem was and once he did, he hummed.

"Oh, I see what you mean..." He mumbled. Clearing his throat, he looked at Oliver again. "You can't... get hard because you're..."

"Dead. I... don't have any—"

"Blood. Which means—"

"No... You know what."

"Yeah..." Christoph was suddenly unsure of what to do. A thought like this hadn't crossed his mind, mostly because he never thought he'd be about to engage in sexual activities with someone who had already passed. Humming as he tried to think, Christoph shook his head cluelessly with a shrug. "I... did not think this far ahead."

"Neither did I." Biting his lip, Oliver balled his hands into fists and looked away. "I mean... It feels good, you just.... can't tell."

"I can tell by the noises and faces you make. And by the way that you move."

"Is that enough for you? Do you not like it that I can't—"

"Oliver," Christoph cut him off. Placing his hand over Oliver's mouth, he shook his head and firmly said, "None of that. This isn't about me, this is about you. If it's not possible for you to show how you feel in that sort of way, I don't mind. I only care about how comfortable you are and what you want to do."

"I want you to make love to me," Oliver said, eyes pleading and voice soft, "I just feel bad that it won't be typical."

"Nothing about this is typical, but you know what? I'm fine with that. I'm fine with all of this." Smiling softly down at Oliver, Christoph pinched his chin between his fingers and guided his head up. "Whatever you want to do is okay with me, alright? I appreciate you stopping me to tell me this. You're a very brave person for doing something like that. Look at you... You're so strong, Oliver."

Beneath him, Oliver groaned and raised his hands to cover his face again. "Oh, God, why did hearing that turn me on?"

"Maybe you benefit from being uplifted and praised during things like this. Have you ever done anything with anyone else?"

"I mean... I did some things, but never the full act."

Christoph looked surprised. "You died a virgin?" Oliver nodded sheepishly and dug his nails in his skin. Christoph did nothing but grin. "Maybe that's another reason why you didn't pass to the real afterlife. You never lost your virginity before dying."

"That's such a ridiculous reason."

"It's a possibility." Christoph chuckled. "How could someone not want to make love to you?"

"Christoph—"

"I mean it. I look at you and I fantasize about worshipping every inch of your body, Oliver... Amongst other things, of course. I don't just view you as a sexual object."

"Make love to me before I explode from all of these compliments," Oliver said quickly as he took his hands away from his face again, "Please?"

Smiling down at him, Christoph chuckled and nodded, kissing Oliver's forehead. "Whatever you please, my love. Tell me if you need me to stop at any point."

Nodding, Oliver grabbed Christoph by his jaw and pulled him into a deep kiss. Oliver was nothing but compliant following the passionate kiss, baring himself and everything that he was to Christoph in the name of love and life themselves.


	10. Zehn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christoph and Ollie: *professing their love*
> 
> Paul: this is how Richard and I FUCK—

## Zehn.

The following morning, classes were canceled due to a snowstorm that had hit in the middle of the night. With snow that came up to a grown man's knee on the ground outside, it was nearly impossible to get in and out of most of the buildings on campus. Christoph hadn't minded, seeing as it allotted him more time to spend with Oliver once he had been alerted that no one had to tend to their classes. The knock on his door had been unwelcome up until that point. Christoph then dragged himself back into bed to lay beside a warm, cozy Oliver, who moaned behind closed lips and pulled himself over top of Christoph.

Both were still bare from their activities just hours before. Oliver was covered with bite marks from Christoph and Christoph had his own fair share of bruises across his pale skin. He hadn't minded that Oliver left so many. It only showed that Christoph belonged to him—that he was indebted to him and his for the taking. Even without the marks, both parties knew that, and the feeling was mutual. Oliver was Christoph's, just as Christoph was his, and he was content with that fact of the matter.

Christoph, in the midst of his early morning haze, ran his hands over Oliver's back. He counted each vertebrae to himself as his fingertips ran up and down Oliver's long spine, earning a quiet noise from Oliver as he rested his head down beside Christoph's on the pillow and pressed lazy kisses to the side of his head. Once Christoph had lead his hand back up Oliver's spine, he retracted his fingers from his skin and wrapped both arms around him, keeping him where he was as he drifted off to sleep again beneath him on the bed.

Though he normally would've been upset that he was unable to tend to his classes, Christoph couldn't have cared less that day. Whether it was because he was still subconsciously preparing himself for Oliver's permanent departure or because he wanted a day to be free of at least one source of stress, he took it for what it was and dealt with it. Less time spent in the classroom meant more time alone with Oliver, who was due to be called back to the afterlife any given day. Christoph still feared a life without Oliver in it. Now that he had had Oliver to himself for a couple weeks, he didn't want to be without him. Oliver brought him a sense of joy and comfort, and gave him his all, even when Christoph didn't ask for it. Oliver was perfect for him. Christoph just wished that things were different for many reasons.

As Christoph slept, Oliver kissed him again and again. He could never get enough of Christoph. He knew that he'd soon be without him and if he were to be stuck in the gray once again once he was gone, he wanted to remember everything about Christoph to make the time go by a bit quicker. He wanted to remember how low and gravelly Christoph's voice sounded in the morning. He wanted to revel in the ghostly feeling of Christoph's fingertips on his skin. He wanted to feel elated from the sensations that Christoph managed to provide for him, even when Oliver deemed it to be close to impossible. He wanted to remember all of it, but he wanted to remember how it felt to love someone else. He never wanted to forget how being loved felt either.

Oliver longed for an answer as to whether or not he could extend his time spent on Earth. He didn't want to depart to an afterlife. Even one that was far better than what he had known as the gray wouldn't be perfect if Christoph weren't there with him. Oliver didn't want to take Christoph's life, however. He couldn't. If prematurely causing Christoph to die was the only way to ensure that Oliver wouldn't be alone in the afterlife, Oliver would choose to wait until the other was meant to die to begin their eternal life together. He had waited this long for Christoph. Abstaining from having him how he wanted could wait, as well.

Oliver found everything about Christoph beautiful. Christoph was a smart man with a good head on his shoulders and a pure heart and soul within him. That was what Oliver cared about the most. Of course, Christoph was a very attractive man with his narrow eyes, prominent nose, and sharp cheekbones that were further accentuated by a very angular jaw, but Oliver didn't jump to his physicality when he thought about what he liked most about Christoph. He seemed to have been crafted by the most intelligent and diligent of angels, who strived to do their very best each and every time they were chosen to design a person to walk the face of the Earth. They had done an excellent job with Christoph. If Oliver somehow ended up in Heaven, he'd thank those angels themselves for Christoph and tell them about how much he loved him. He doubted that they would care to know, but shouting his love for Christoph to anything and anyone seemed to quench his need to feel completely inhibited with him.

With the blankets in disarray over top of them, Oliver fell asleep for only a couple more hours before waking up. Christoph stirred below him and tightened his grip on him, only to flip them over so that he was laying on Oliver.

Groaning, he rested his forehead on his shoulder, mumbling, "I don't feel good. I have a terrible headache."

"You drank too much," Oliver reminded him through a tired tone of voice, "Not to mention that you came... four times last night. I told you to take a break."

"I didn't need one," Christoph whined, "I didn't think I was so dehydrated."

"I knew you were, but it's okay. Now you know for next time."

"Next time, you say?"

Smirking faintly, Oliver nodded and shut his eyes. "Next time, I say."

Christoph scoffed softly and shook his head playfully. Wrapping his arms tightly around Oliver, he hid his face in his neck and smiled to himself.

"I could stay like this forever," Christoph whispered to him, "I would deem myself as foolish for saying such a thing if it weren't for you."

"I've made you a changed man," Oliver said, "As if you needed changing at all."

"I did. I never listened to my heart. I only ever listened to my head."

"That's not such a bad thing. Sometimes, our heads are right." Pausing for a moment, Oliver let a sneaky smile tug at the corners of his lips. "What did your head say about me when you first met me?"

"Well..." Christoph chuckled through his nose and hummed under his breath before saying, "It said... 'What the hell is that?' But then after you told me about yourself, it calmed down a little."

"What did your heart say?"

"The same thing. But rather than thinking things through, it jumped to the conclusion that I was going to give you everything in me to make you happy." Christoph lifted his head up and smiled at Oliver. Bringing his hand to Oliver's cheek, he brushed his knuckles down it gently and kissed the tip of his nose. "Has it worked?"

Humming to himself, Oliver shrugged and cupped Christoph's face in his hands, flickering his eyes across his features as he mumbled, "I think so, for the most part... There's more that you could give me, though."

Christoph arched a brow. "Is that so? What else could I give you?"

Oliver bit his lower lip and tugged at it. "Your love."

Christoph's blue eyes searched Oliver's expression, as if he were looking for anything that could've raised any suspicions, though he knew there'd be nothing to worry about. His heart slowed inside of his chest as the muscles around it tightened with adrenaline, his mind coming to a near stop in its thought process at the same moment. He felt so many things for Oliver—things that he didn't even know could be felt by a man. Oliver had changed most everything for him, so it was no surprise that he also provide Christoph with a new outlook on something such as this.

Despite his confusion and never having admitted anything of the sort to someone, Christoph knew what he felt. It wasn't deep inside him, trapped where only he could reach it. It was budding at the surface and begging to bloom into something more.

The task was daunting. Christoph then prided Mother Nature in changing winter into spring. He, too, just like the winter, had been cold and shut down most everything when the time called for it. He could be frigid at times or deceivingly bright and sunny, though the second someone dared to take a step into his nature, they'd feel how cold and distant he was. However, he didn't feel like that anymore. The ice melted away and the gusts of wind died down to gentle breezes. Snow turned into water and nourished the life below the exterior, causing things to grow and reach out towards the light. Christoph had been fearful of it, seeing as how he had been trapped in the winter for so long that he forgot how it felt to embrace a bit of warmth, but was quick to accept it for what it was and hold himself dear to the change he was given.

Oliver had been that change. He had brought spring to Christoph's life. He had been the driving force when the snow melted and when the storms ceased to blow their cruel winds. He had been the sunshine that outshined the clouds and he was the flowing rivers that began harvesting life. Oliver was everything to him. Oliver was the love of his life.

Parting his lips, Christoph brushed his knuckles down the curve of Oliver's cheek, his wandering eyes finding their place within Oliver's as he said, "My love is yours to take. With everything in my being, I love you more than any other mortal man could love another soul."

"And I love you. I love you, though I'm without what a love would typically possess. I haven't a heart, but you have given me a piece of yours and that alone is enough to keep me going," Oliver said to him, his voice soft and timid, "I'm in love with the way that your body entangles itself with mine while we sleep. I find solace in your arms. I feel at peace when your lips are on mine, attempting to claim the breaths that I now wish I had, solely to discover that you do truly take my breath away. With all that exists inside of my conscience and my soul, I am yours, Christoph. I will be yours, even when and after I depart and leave you here until your time comes to join me in the afterlife, where our love will undoubtedly be solidified for eternity. I'm in love with you. A part of me believes I have been since I first sensed a man such as you living in a space that I once experienced life in. I belong to you, just as you belong to me... And I will love you forever."

With tears in his eyes and his throat as tight as a violin string, Christoph smiled softly at Oliver and exhaled raggedly through his nose. Rather than connecting their lips in a kiss, he took Oliver into his arms and held him there. He wanted to give Oliver a piece of him. He'd give him all of him if that meant that Oliver could stay with him. Christoph would've tacked himself as being smitten and blinded by lust for doing such a thing, but he knew that those two sensations had been long gone and shoved to the side by love itself. Christoph loved Oliver. He didn't care if he was without a heart and without blood in his veins and breath in his lungs. He loved Oliver with all that he had in him and he'd never love anyone else the same.

"When you depart, kill me," Christoph told him, "I don't want to be on this Earth if you aren't on it."

"I won't," Oliver refused, "You have a life to live. You have children to guide and teach. You have Paul and Richard to look after. You have so much to accomplish. I refuse to take your life prematurely."

"Then why did fate take yours in such a way?" Christoph asked, though he knew Oliver didn't have the answer.

Oliver shook his head slowly to Christoph's question. He closed his eyes and tucked his face into Christoph's neck, his fingers taking a secure grip on the hairs at the back of his head to cradle him as close as possible.

"Sometimes, the universe does unspeakable things. Mistakes are made in all forms of life."

"Then why did the universe make such a mistake with you? How could it have accidentally lead you into the care of such an evil woman and an equally sinister man?"

"We'll never know. It's better to embrace what we have now rather than create wars within our minds."

Christoph fell silent, finding truth in Oliver's words. Nodding, he sighed through his nostrils and wrapped his arms tighter around Oliver's slim torso. Perhaps if he held him securely enough, the afterlife would have no way of getting to him and taking him away. Christoph knew that they could not possibly stay in a position such as this, but he wished with all of his heart that they could.

Neither said a word for a long while. They simply lay in one another's arms, brushing their fingertips over each other's bodies to study their frames and cherish every imperfection that they stumbled across. Nothing needed to be said for the two to feel what the other felt. It spoke loud enough in their auras during their bursts of silence. What they had was love in its purest yet most heartbreaking form. Both knew it, but still latched onto one another and accepted it for what it was—at the very least, it had granted them the other, after all.

—

"What do you use to have sex? Richard and I use oil."

"I– I'm not sure I want to talk about this."

"Come on, loosen up, Flake! Drink a little more! It's Friday night, you deserve this. Besides—" Paul interrupted himself to grab the bottle of rum he had brought along with him and take a large drink from it. Flake watched with wide eyes as Paul chugged and chugged until he ran out of breath and nearly spat on himself when he yanked the bottle away from his lips. With rum running down from the corners of his mouth and dripping off his chin, he grinned at Flake, saying, "— _You're_ the one who invited me over to drink. You have to partake in the festivities because of that, if nothing else!"

Flake was weary of drinking so much. Till drank often, despite his condition, leaving Flake to be his sole provider in yet another way. It wasn't a common occurrence for Flake to let his guard down and enjoy something. His life centered around work and taking care of Till. There wasn't room for anything else until this evening in his office with Paul, who was already drunk. Flake felt a bit tipsy and nothing more. Could he afford to be so careless for once? Would Till be mad?

Flake couldn't care about that. He knew he couldn't. He couldn't dedicate his life to only two things and refuse to branch out and enjoy himself. He deserved it, he believed. He deserved to have one night where he could forget about everything and let loose.

Rather than providing Paul with a verbal response, he grabbed the bottle of vodka that was sat in front of him and quickly removed its lid. Paul sat back in his chair, curious to see if Flake would drink as boldly as he had. Surely enough, Flake brought the bottle up to his mouth, tilted his head back, and took a long drink. A grimace creased his brow and caused his nose to scrunch up, but didn't deter him from drinking as much as he could as quickly as possible. Was this dangerous? Maybe. But Flake was loosening up for once. One careless night wouldn't hurt him.

When Flake pulled the bottle from his lips, half of it was gone. He felt dizzy and nauseous. The taste wasn't pleasing nor was it easy to keep down, but for the sake of the evening and its purpose, he forced himself to remain calm and somewhat collected. Groaning, he sighed heavily through his nose and unceremoniously wiped his mouth off with the back of his wrist, earning a snicker from Paul. 

"You're going to be feeling that in... five minutes," Paul inquired, "You're about to be drunk as _fuck_."

"What happens when you're drunk?" Flake asked. His voice was soft with innocence and cluelessness, which earned Paul's attention. Flickering his gaze between Paul and the surface of his desk, Flake said, "Till gets drunk a lot, but I've never been drunk. I– I can't. I wouldn't be able to work or take care of him if I drank."

"You didn't drink even as a teenager?" Paul asked, "When we went to school together?"

Flake shook his head. "No. I never wanted to."

"Well... I can respect that." Sighing, Paul leaned forward to slap his hand on Flake's desk, a bright grin immediately spreading across his lips. "But now, Flake, is your chance to get absolutely fucked. Are you ready to take this next step into true adulthood?"

"I thought having a steady paying job and a spouse was true adulthood?"

"Yeah, for fucking losers. You're not a loser, right, Flake? You're cool! You wanna be cool!"

"I– I mean... S– Sure."

"Of course you do! You can't be a cool, real adult if you don't get shitfaced." Paul, his grin now beaming as bright as the sun, shoved the bottle of vodka back into Flake's hands and took the rum into his own. Clinking the necks of the bottles together, he winked at Flake, saying, "Here's to being drunk adults!"

Flake didn't want to say anything. He knew that if he did, he'd somehow talk himself out of this. Instead, he followed Paul in suit and took a drink from his vodka just as Paul drank from his rum. The taste was still off putting, but not as much anymore since the effects from his first long drink were beginning to slam into him. It wasn't long until he was as far gone as Paul was. It should've scared him, but in that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

—

Within an hour, Flake was in the midst of ripping the buttons off his shirt from feeling as hot as he did as Paul laughed and tried on the extra laboratory coat that Flake had in the office. With it nearly touching the floor, Paul felt as if he was drowning, but in the best way. Hugging himself, he giggled and threw his head back, only to stumble and nearly fall. Had Flake been sober or paying attention, he would've clumsily run over to prevent Paul from falling, but thankfully Paul got a handle on himself before that could happen.

Flake had nearly finished off the bottle of vodka, which now didn't taste as bad as it originally had. Paul was mumbling to himself about the rum he had drank as he flapped his arms around to watch the sleeves of the coat alternate between covering his hands and falling down to his elbows. Needless to say, both were as far from professional as possible at that moment, but neither had the sanity to care.

"Flake?" Paul drew out through a whine. Looking over at him, he pouted, saying, "When's Richard going to feel okay?"

"Ah... I think when I stop taking his blood," Flake said, his words slurred and voice higher than usual. Sniffling, he stumbled out from behind his desk, his shirt halfway off and his legs nearly wobbling with each step he took. "It's just for... tests and stuff. The blood taking."

"But why?" Paul whined again, "I want my Richard back. He doesn't deserve to have his blood taken!"

"But other people need it," Flake whined back, his head lulling to the side as he came over to the wall and leaned against it. He looked at Paul for a moment before frowning, suddenly saying, "Till needs it. He's gonna die, Paul, I can't lose Till. I have to save him."

"But you can't kill Richard to save him!" Paul said a bit more coherently. Though he was drunk, he could tell that he was taking a step in the right direction. Rather than showing that he was sobering up due to the nature of the topic, he mumbled nonsensically for a moment before saying, "Why do you even do that anyway? Why... Why take people's blood to save Till? Does he, like, want you to or... something?"

"No. No." Flake shook his head and looked across the room. His hazy gaze focused briefly as it fell on the portrait of Frau Lindemann that was hung up on the wall. Every morning when he arrived, he saw that painting of her and reminded himself of why he was here and what lead him to do all of this. It was her idea. She had been the one to plant the idea in his head—or scare him into cultivating it, rather. Fidgeting, Flake scratched at his forearms and whined. "She scares me. She's dead and she's still so scary."

"Who?" Paul asked, "Who scares you?"

"Frau Lindemann," Flake whispered, "She's... She's dead and terrifying. I'm so scared of her."

"But why?" Paul pressed. Walking over to Flake, he leaned against his side and gazed up at him. Flake was seemingly drifting in and out of consciousness, despite being on his feet and speaking somewhat coherently. Grabbing his unbuttoned shirt to balance himself, Paul tugged at it, asking, "Why are you scared of her if she's dead?"

It took a moment for the question to register to Flake. Between the alcohol and rising anxiety he felt, he was better off useless. He raised his hands to his lips to bite at his nails, nearly beginning to fall to the side before Paul grabbed him and righted him with a drunken giggle. He had never admitted anything like this before, not even to himself. But Paul was his friend. Paul got him drunk. Paul was taking care of him. God, it felt wonderful to be taken care of for once. Why didn't he do this more often? Why had he been so hesitant to talk to Paul? He was foolish to have been turned off by him because of the past. What mattered was the present and how well Paul was treating him now. Flake could let loose. Flake could open up for once.

"She threatened to kill me if I... if I didn't take care of Till," Flake said aloud for the first time ever in his life, "She found out that we were sleeping together... And she was mad. So mad that she, like... yelled at Till and told him that it was only making him more sick. I don't think that's possible, but I don't know, I don't know anything other than that she thought other people's blood would help Till. She said, 'Oh, Till– Till, my son, his blood— He has bad blood. If we give him good blood from other people, he'll feel better, he'll get better.' And she's not a doctor, so _I_ had to do it. I had to do it because if I didn't..." Flake laughed suddenly and threw his head back, his nerves shaking and twitching with anxiety and fear as he shook his head and said, "She was going to kill me... She told me how she would do it... and I was so scared that I did it. And now, Till believes that what she said was true! He tells me, 'Flake, Flake, get me more blood. I need more, I feel better with it!' But... he doesn't. He's going to die one day, Paul, because he– he's sick. Sick people die. But he makes me kill other people for him because now, he's like his mother and thinks other people's blood with help him, but it won't! I– I know it won't. I've always known, but I just... kept doing it. I did it for him and because... because I was scared. I'm scared. I'm always scared. So, so scared."

Paul, now fully brought back to his normal state of mind due to Flake's confession, stared at him with horror, rage, and tears in his eyes. He didn't know what to feel and wasn't sure what to act on or do. He never knew that it spread back as far as Frau Lindemann threatening to kill him. He would've never imagined that a lady like her would blackmail someone into killing others, simply because they were sleeping with her son. Paul couldn't hold a younger version of Flake to blame for his actions, but Flake wasn't young anymore. Flake was a grown man and capable of making his own decisions. Frau Lindemann was dead. She couldn't hurt him anymore. What could Till do? He couldn't fight back. He was too sick to leave the house most days from what he heard and had experienced around campus. What did Flake have to be afraid of? What was his excuse now?

Tears ran down Flake's cheeks as he stared at the portrait of Frau Lindemann on the wall. Sniffling, he stepped away from the wall he was leaning against and took several unsteady steps towards the other side of the room.

"She haunts me," Flake mumbled, his voice failing him and leaving him to sound incoherent, "I– I see her and feel her here... But she's dead. She, she can't hurt me anymore, right? She can't?"

"She can't," Paul said through a tight throat. Looking around the room for anything that he could use to his advantage against Flake, his eyes landed on a cane in the corner of the room and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He couldn't let Flake get away with this. He couldn't let either of them go their separate ways without doing anything about this. With Flake's back to him, Paul slipped over to the other side of the room and grabbed the cane, taking a firm grip on it. "She's dead... Just like Richard will be if you keep taking his blood. It's not right what you're doing, Flake... It isn't."

"I know," Flake gasped out. More tears cascaded down his cheeks and landed on his chest, causing him to flinch and reach up with a shaky hand to wipe them away. "I– I don't like doing it. I hate it, I hate it so much. I say I'm better than she was because she would kill people with her bare hands, but I kill people, too. I kill people all the time, every single day... I can't— I can't do it anymore."

"You don't have to," Paul told him. Now behind Flake, he wielded the cane up and over his right shoulder, standing at an angle to get more weight and power into the swing he would soon be directing at the side of Flake's head. "You don't have to keep doing it. We can change everything."

"How?" Flake cried, "How do we do that?"

"You just have to trust me. Okay? Can you trust me?"

"I– I... Paul—"

"Flake, do you trust me?" Paul asked, his voice louder and clearer, "I need you to tell me that you trust me."

Flake, sniffling and nearly choking on his own saliva, began sobbing as he lowered his head and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. He wanted this to change. He needed it to. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't take anymore lives to save Till's. He couldn't live in fear and guilt for another day. Something had to change before he killed himself for his own actions and to avenge the souls that he had taken, both with Frau Lindemann's help and his own hands.

"I... I trust you," Flake told him through a whisper, "I trust you, Paul."

"Good," Paul breathed out. Flexing his fingers around the cane, Paul tightened his grip on it and clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay as still as he could. "Just stay still for me, Flake. Stay still."

Flake didn't say anything and Paul didn't hesitate. Within the blink of an eye, Paul was swinging the cane against Flake's head hard, causing a crack to sound in the room, followed by Flake's short cry before he fell to the floor unconscious.


	11. Elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck Christoph for making Paul cry!! Also, we have to love soft Ollie.

## Elf.

"Paul... What the fuck have you done?"

"Is he... dead?"

"You guys are such wussies. He's sleeping!"

"He has blood spilling from his nose and mouth!"

"Yeah, but it's dried! It's not fresh. It's from when I hit him."

"Oh? And how many times did you hit him?"

"I don't know. I was drunk. I lost count after four. That, and I'm a history professor, not a math professor." Scoffing, Paul rolled his eyes at Christoph and Oliver before looking to Flake. In the center of his room sat Flake, bound up in a chair with his head hanging low and his clothes as disheveled as they had been in Flake's office in the hospital. Paul didn't care for his wellbeing or if he was cold. Flake didn't care about others, therefore Paul wouldn't cater to him. Glaring at the unconscious man, Paul spoke through a soft growl, "A part of me wishes he'll never wake up so I don't have to look at his stupid face ever again."

"We need him to wake up," Christoph pressed, his tone hard with seriousness, "How long has he been out?"

"Since one this morning, so seven hours."

"Did he wake up at all when you were getting him here? And... just how did you get him here, exactly?"

Nodding over to the bathroom where the handles of a wheelchair were sticking out from the door, Paul sighed and looked away from Flake. "I stole that thing and wheeled him all the way here. It took about an hour."

"You do realize that there were plenty of other better ways to go about this, don't you?" Christoph asked tastelessly.

"Yeah?" Paul scoffed harshly, turning to look at Christoph with a fiery blaze in his gaze and the growl in his voice once again, "And just what the fuck were you going to do? I'm the one who's been going to that fucking hellhole for the past several weeks to talk to him! I'm the one who's had to spend my downtime with the man who's killing my lover! And what have you been doing, Christoph? Or should I be asking _who_?"

Beside Christoph, Oliver tensed up and looked down. Though he knew he was useless in this situation, knowing that he was distracting Christoph and withholding him from doing something of importance stung even worse.

"It's not your fault, Oliver," Paul said, as if he had read Oliver's mind, "You didn't make Christoph fuck you. You also aren't the one who's willingly going about his life as if nothing wrong is happening."

"I suggest you keep your mouth shut before I bust your lips open," Christoph said lowly to him, his icy gaze fighting for dominance against Paul's flames, "I've been helping as much as I can. I'm sorry that this process isn't exactly a walk in the park, Paul."

"And I'm sorry that Oliver has to put up with the thirteen years of sexual angst that you've kept bottled up because poor little Herr Schneider never deemed anyone good or worthy enough to fuck him."

"Shut it, Paul."

"Does Oliver know about that? Does he know about how fucking rude and cold you are, even to the people who love you most?" Paul stepped up to Christoph and immediately delivered a rough shove to the front of his chest. Christoph stepped back twice, only for Paul to grab his coat and yank him forward with a snarl. "Tell me, Christoph, did you let him know about all the hearts that you've broken because all you did in the past was use people and then throw them away because you saw no point in keeping them around anymore? Does Oliver know that that's the type of person you are?" Scoffing again, Paul shoved Christoph even harder, yelling his next words as Christoph stumbled back into the dresser behind him, "Does he know how fucking self-centered you are?! Does he know that you deemed Richard and I unworthy of your presence when we first met because God forbid, we weren't brought up like you or acted like you?! Does Oliver know anything about just how fucking frigid you are, Christoph, or have you just shown him the same facade that you showed to all the women that you fucked back in the day?!"

"Enough, Paul!" Christoph yelled back, righting himself within an instant. His face was becoming red with anger as he looked down at Paul, who didn't do so much as flinch, even as Christoph stepped up to him to tower over him as he spoke down to him, "That's _enough_. None of this has anything to do what we're doing here and you know it."

"Why am I not good enough for you?!" Paul shouted, his voice breaking in the middle of his cry. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes as he looked up at Christoph, his lips trembling and throat bobbing as it tightened. "Why is everything I do not good enough for you? Why? I helped you with Oliver and that wasn't good enough— I even got you his medical documents, which is _illegal_ , and that wasn't good enough either. I pushed aside my pain and longing for Richard when he was first put in the hospital to stay here and continue teaching, and to keep both Richard and I safe, and somehow, even though you weren't even involved, that wasn't good enough either. And now I do _exactly_ what _you_ told me to do and– and it's not good enough! I'm never good enough for you! I get it, Christoph! I get it! I'm not good enough! I got it the first time I ever met you and I get it now that I'm stuck helping a fucking dead man –who you're fucking sleeping with, mind you!– frame Herr and Frau Lindemann, and Doktor Lorenz for the murders of hundreds of people—and one that may potentially be my future husband!"

Now crying, Paul shoved Christoph away again and stumbled back at the same moment. He sniffled and looked at Christoph with such hurt in his gaze that Christoph nearly felt himself shatter as he stared at Paul. Within a month and a half, Paul had gone from a very private man who was budding with only positive emotions to a man that was so sad and destroyed that he could hardly continue living. Christoph felt guilty because he knew that he hadn't made it easier either. He never realized how much his words and actions effected Paul. They never seemed to bother him much before, but apparently Christoph had been wrong. He had been hurting Paul the entire time and hadn't known at all.

"I'm just a waste of your time and a waste of a friend. I understand, Christoph. Really, I do," Paul said. The words were meant to be spoken with a bite, but were instead laced with small breaks and cracks in them. Swallowing roughly, Paul scoffed humorlessly and gestured over towards Flake, saying, "So I'm sorry if I beat the shit out of Flake because he's killing my lover and has killed hundreds of other people, and I'm sorry that me capturing him for you and Oliver isn't anywhere near good enough. My bad."

With that, Paul turned on his heel and retreated to his bathroom. Shoving the wheelchair into the bathroom the rest of the way, he slammed the door shut behind him and noisily fastened its locks, leaving Christoph to stare at the door with his heart in his throat and his pride sinking into his stomach.

He felt too much suddenly. A wave of every emotion imaginable had crashed into him and thrown him onto the shore unforgivingly. Christoph deserved it, though. He had treated Paul poorly. He had done nothing but tear him down without taking notice of it and it had finally taken its toll during the most crucial of moments.

Perhaps Paul was right. Maybe Christoph was arrogant and cold, more than he initially believed. Christoph never meant to treat his friends so poorly. His paralyzing fear of being stepped on and seen as less than someone else had lead him to do things that he should've recognized were bad. Paul just so happened to be the main recipient of his actions.

"I need to be alone," Christoph told Oliver through a whisper. Shaking his head, he reached up to rub his hands over his face and sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'll be back soon. Just– Just stay here."

Oliver knew better than to say anything. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he nodded and stepped to the side to allow Christoph access to the door. Christoph didn't even do so much as spare Oliver a second glance as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Oliver looked down at the hardwood floor beneath his feet and pulled his lips into a thin line. He didn't know of Christoph and Paul's past, but based on what had been said and how he had seen and heard Christoph react to some of Paul's doings, Oliver couldn't help but wonder if Paul had made a valid point. Yes, he loved Christoph, but love couldn't fix everything, nor could it blind Oliver from seeing how Christoph had acted in the past and in the present with others.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Oliver wrapped his arms around himself and rested his back against the wall. He slid down it gently until he came to a rest on the floor. Before him, a couple meters away, sat Flake, tied securely in the chair Paul had put him in when he had arrived back with him several hours prior. Oliver knew that this man had killed him, but didn't show any fear towards him. Flake couldn't do anything to him anymore. The worst had already happened.

If Paul was too damaged to carry on with this and Christoph was preoccupied with his own emotions to provide an insightful input, Oliver could take the reigns. This was his doing, after all. It was only fitting that he fix it.

—

Paul had fallen asleep in the bathroom, curled up in a ball on the floor with his arms around his legs, which were tucked up into his chest. He didn't make a sound nor respond to Oliver when he had knocked on the door not once, not twice, but several times. He was fast asleep, as if he hadn't slept since the dawn of time. Upon waking up, he'd feel sore from sleeping on such a hard floor, but at least he would feel more stable emotionally.

Christoph was nowhere to be found. Oliver peered out the windows occasionally, hoping to catch a glimpse of Christoph to see if he was wandering around campus. When classes changed, his gaze swept the masses that walked across the snowy fields and sidewalks, though failed to find Christoph. He seemed to not be coming back, much to Oliver's dismay. Though he could attempt to speak to Flake alone, he would've felt much more confident had either of the two been with him.

However, that wasn't the case. Flake woke up with a groan and a sharp inhale, which earned Oliver's attention. With Flake's back to him, he was unseen by the human eye, but felt by one's instincts. Within a minute or so of being conscious, he began looking around wildly, sensing another being in the room with him, but being unable to see them. Behind him, Oliver frowned and stood still, hoping to not be seen quite yet.

How he was going to go about this was unknown to him. How was he supposed to approach the man who had killed him? What was he supposed to say? None of this had ever been a part of his plans, but now that he was faced with them, he had to carry the torch and light the way. The others weren't well enough to do so themselves, leaving Oliver as the sole instigator at the moment. 

Before he could hesitate furthermore, Oliver stepped out from behind Flake. He kept his head down for a moment as he watched Flake struggle out of the corner of his eye, his arms and legs desperately flailing as he attempted to free himself. Oliver clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly, stopping where he was for a moment before he reached out towards Paul's desk to grab the other chair that had been pushed in below it. He pulled it out and positioned it in front of Flake's, taking his time to sit down and then look at Flake.

"Do you know me?" Oliver asked him, his voice soft as to not startle him more than he was about to, "Do you remember me?"

"N– No," Flake stammered, his eyes wide and breathing heavy and quick. Looking around the room, he whined and struggled in the chair, his gaze finding Oliver again as he balled his hands into fist and yanked at the ropes around him. "Let me go, I– I can't be t– tied up, I– I'm going to pass out."

"You won't. Just breathe, it's okay. I won't hurt you."

"That's what Paul said!" Flake cried out, "And now I'm here!"

"For good reason. He's trying to help you. We're trying to help you."

Bewildered, Flake inhaled sharply and shook his head. "W– With what? Help with what?"

"You killed me," Oliver said gently. Looking across Flake's face to watch as his features shifted, Oliver tightened his jaw before continuing, "Frau Lindemann brought me to you in 1901 when the tuberculosis outbreak happened at Beelitz Hauptschule. I was in your care for several months before I was killed by Frau Lindemann herself."

"No," Flake gasped, his body trembling violently and his teeth chattering with anxiety. Shaking his head quickly, he whimpered and struggled more in the chair he was in, tears forming in his eyes. "No, no, that's not possible. I– I don't know what you're talking about, I—"

"I'm Oliver Riedel. I was born on the eleventh of April in 1881. On the tenth of January in 1901, Frau Lindemann admitted me to Beelitz-Heilstätten and you, Doktor Lorenz, were my physician. You conducted experiments on me and took my blood for reasons I didn't know at the time. You and Frau Lindemann killed me on the twentieth of April that same year—just ten days after my twentieth birthday. An attempt was made to open my skull to take parts of my brain for another experiment, but proved to be unsuccessful. Immediately after, my chest was opened up and my heart was ripped out of it while I was still alive. I died because of you and Frau Lindemann, all to save Till's life."

Pushing up the hair that rested on his forehead, Oliver bared the scars that Flake and Frau Lindemann had given him and watched as Flake's eyes widened prior to spilling silent streams of tears from them. Flake looked at the familiar marks and winced in his seat, but didn't dare take his gaze off of Oliver. He knew what he had done. He remembered now. Oliver was one of their first victims, and unforgettable one, at that. Oliver hung on longer than most everyone else during that time. His persistence to live is what drove Frau Lindemann to press Flake into conducting experiments on him. If it weren't for her or for Flake's weak-mindedness, Oliver would've been alive still.

He would still have his heart, rather than the gaping hole in his chest, which he was now baring to Flake. Flake cried out loudly as a sobbed was ripped from the back of his throat, leaving him to tip his head back and cry out for forgiveness to whoever was listening. In front of him, Oliver sat in silence. He glanced down at his chest before flitting his gaze to Flake's hands where they were tied up in his lap. Those hands had abused him just as much as Frau Lindemann's had. Those were the hands that injected needles into his veins and tightened the straps that kept him in bed, even when all he wanted to do was get up and run as far away as possible. 

Oliver should've been angry. He should've felt all the rage of the God of War himself. He was sitting before the man who had taken his life and had stolen his dreams from him before he could even begin living them. Flake, along with Frau Lindemann, had ruined him so much that his body was permanently scarred for the rest of eternity. Oliver would never look as pure and innocent as he once had been. He would forever be presented with bruises on his arms, scars across his forehead, and gaping hole in his chest where his heart once was. Not even an honest recreation from the angels themselves wouldn't fix Oliver and all that they had broken for him.

Despite the odds, Oliver wasn't mad at all. There was no time to be angry or upset with Flake. His own fury and disdain could be tabled for now. His fate had already been decided for him—he had died and now was back to stop Flake from doing this to others. Indulging in the feelings that he had harbored for ten years would do nothing but prohibit them from moving further with what needed to be done. Oliver knew his priorities and he was well aware of what mattered, and he himself fell at the bottom of the list.

"I'm here because my soul never made it to the afterlife," Oliver explained. He spoke softly with a fluidity to his words—one that hopefully stood out to Flake and got through to him in the midst of his praying and begging to the heavens. Oliver frowned faintly and looked over Flake's stature before focusing on the contorted features of his face. "I'm not upset with you for killing me, Doktor Lorenz. I am, however, upset with you for continuing to take people's lives in order to save one man's life. I cannot rest for eternity in peace whilst knowing that you are still on this Earth, wreaking havoc and taking lives the way that you took mine... I'm here to stop you, Doktor Lorenz, but I am not here to kill you as you have killed me. I'm here to help."

"This isn't real, this can't be real!" Flake cried out, "I never meant for it to get this far! I never meant it to!"

"I know. Paul knows, as well. As does a man named Christoph Schneider. He's a colleague of Paul's and a professor at Beelitz Gymnasium. All three of us are here to get you out of this and to save the lives of those who are currently in your care. You can't keep taking lives, Doktor... You can't. This is fate and life's way of telling you to stop. If you don't take heed of this warning, I fear for what will happen to you."

"Help me," Flake gasped desperately, his eyes wild and pleading, and breathing uneven. He shook his head at himself and sobbed, sniffling loudly as he whimpered with his words, "I don't want to do this anymore. I– I don't care if Till dies. It doesn't help him anyway. Please, please help me. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I never meant for it to come to this, I'm— I never meant to go this far with it."

"It's okay." Nodding twice, Oliver looked at Flake with focused eyes and a soft expression on his face. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Flake's knee, giving it the faintest of squeezes with his words, "We're going to fix this. We're going to save those people."

"Paul's boyfriend," Flake whispered, "I– I have to save Richard first. I told him I would make Richard better. I've been taking less blood from him than usual, but Till hasn't noticed. I have to think of something to get Richard out of there."

"We can all come up with a plan," Oliver assured him, "We're in this together. You aren't alone anymore with this, Doktor. We're here to help you and your patients, okay?"

Flake glanced down at Oliver's hand on his thigh and hesitated for a moment. This felt like a dream caused by the concussion that he undoubtedly had from being beaten with a cane by Paul, but he knew that it wasn't. None of his nightmares had ever been this vivid—even the recurring ones that haunted him when he was both awake and asleep.

Nodding, Flake looked up at Oliver and sniffled once more. This was what he had to do now. He had dug his own grave. Now he needed to lay in it.


	12. Zwölf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christoph is still an asshole, who would’ve thought.

## Zwölf.

Several weeks came and went with tension and levels of stress high enough to rocket through the roof of Beelitz-Heilstätten itself. Within the hospital, Flake did whatever he could to nurse Richard back to health and reverse the effects of the treatments he had undergone. Little happened at first. Richard didn't make much progress at all, save for a being conscious a few minutes more every other day. Flake was beginning to grow worried. He believed that he had gone too far and done too much to save Richard. If Richard wouldn't be able to recover, it would be his fault. He would have the blood of yet another man on his hands.

Paul, however, had made it evident to Flake that he needed to do more than he believed imaginable in order to save Richard. His threat had been that if Richard died, Paul would kill Flake himself with his bare hands, and then kill Till afterwards. Truth be told, Flake wasn't concerned about his own well-being. If he died, then he died. That was all there was to it. The same went for Till. With that, Flake upped his dosage of medicines for Richard and gave him blood transfusions whenever possible—ones that were geared towards saving him rather than killing him.

After his lessons at Beelitz Gymnasium, Paul would make his way to Beelitz-Heilstätten. He would see Richard and gage how he was doing based off of what he could and would react to. Over time, he began getting better, but he wasn't anywhere near the health that he had just two months prior. Paul knew that he had to be patient. Nursing Richard back to health wouldn't be easy, but it would be doable. It would take at least another several weeks from what Flake had told him and even though that hurt, it was better than lowering Richard six feet underground in a casket. At least Paul would be able to hold him and kiss him after this. If nothing had been discovered or done, Richard might've been dead already. Paul, deep inside, was thankful, but it didn't change how upset and conflicted he still felt on the outside.

It didn't come as a surprise that Christoph wasn't of much use. Paul could excuse Oliver's lack of action, seeing as he was a dead man and having him has his hand at this side would be too much to risk, but Christoph had little to no reason to linger behind and let Paul do all the dirty work himself. Oliver was grown. He knew when to stay hidden and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Christoph didn't have to keep an eye on him and stay with him during every moment of the day. The least he could do was accompany Paul to the hospital, and he didn't even do that. He claimed that he was busy with planning lessons and grading work, and that he was aiding Oliver in his departure from this world and into the afterlife. Paul knew that he was lying. While Christoph was quite strict when it came to his teachings, Paul wasn't far behind. He just happened to be a bit more fun and lenient. If Paul could balance his work with all that he was doing with a Flake and Richard, Christoph could sacrifice a couple hours out of his life every few days to aid Paul with the task at hand. Christoph had been the one to drag him into it, after all.

Inside his room, Christoph stayed with Oliver whenever possible. When he had to teach, he thought about how soon he could leave just to be with Oliver again. He was growing attached—far too attached, Paul believed. How he'd react once Oliver was gone was unknown, but Paul knew that it wouldn't be pretty. Christoph knew it, too. However, he was shielding himself from the reality of things. He believed that there was a way to get Oliver to stay or that somehow, he could travel to whichever plane Oliver ended up in whilst he slept. A month before, Christoph would've cursed himself for showing such vulnerability and foolishness, but at this point, most of his sanity was gone. He was in love with a dead man and devoting every available second of his life to him. He was sharing not only his bed and his room with him, but also his heart and his soul. Christoph was giving everything to Oliver, even though he knew that the inevitable would be happening soon—that Oliver would leave for good and Christoph would be alone once again.

Oliver had noticed over the weeks that Christoph was separating himself from reality. It wasn't difficult to realize. Christoph had gone from a dedicated professor to a lovesick man who ran home from his classes to see his lover and board himself up alone in his room with him. He slipped through with his teachings and fell short of his own expectations, though they seemed to have been put on an indefinite hiatus due to Oliver's presence. Oliver began feeling guilty because of it. Not only was Christoph not giving his students the attention they deserved, but he was also failing to acknowledge Paul's existence and his hard work. Had it not been for Paul, nothing would be getting done. Christoph would be caught up in Oliver and all that he was, and no progress would be made. Richard would dead and Paul would be on the verge of killing himself because of it, all while Christoph fell hopelessly in love with a man that was never destined to be in his life.

Christoph had had a selfish streak before in the past, which Paul had brought to Oliver's attention before, but now it was reaching a new extent. Oliver couldn't let it continue anymore.

"Ollie?" Christoph called out as he heard the familiar sound of one of his jackets rustling. Furrowing his brows, he stepped out of the bathroom and watched with a confused expression as Oliver got dressed. "Where are you going?"

"To help Paul," Oliver said through a mumble. He glanced at Christoph for a second before he frowned and looked down to button up the jacket properly. "It's the nice thing to do."

"Paul has this all figured out," Christoph insisted, "Besides, you can't leave anyway. What if something happens?"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he mumbled a second time, "You haven't been helping him much. You've been focusing on me and leaving him to do all the work. It isn't fair to him." Bringing his gaze up, he met Christoph's eyes and shot him a sympathetic look, which was laced with a frown. "I love you, but you're only thinking about us right now. I'm not demonizing you for it, but... It's unfair to Paul. He needs our help, now more than ever. Richard is getting better, Flake is complying to what Paul says, and yet Paul is all alone with little to no support. We can't do this to him. He's going to break and then all of this will fail."

"He's been fine up until now and he'll be fine once it's over, too," Christoph said, his tone a bit harder than it was before. Sighing sharply, he clenched his jaw and stepped out of the bathroom. His entry into the room didn't stop Oliver from continuing to dress himself, however. Christoph narrowed his eyes and shook his head, scoffing under his breath. "If Paul needed help, he'd come to us and ask for help. He hasn't yet, so I think everything will be okay."

"Put yourself into Paul's shoes," Oliver said. His voice matched Christoph's. It was hard with an underlying bite to it. The two's gazes locked and Oliver sighed through his nose. "I'm just saying, you're being a little selfish. If you don't want to come help, you don't have to. But I'm going."

"You are _not_ going." Christoph paced across the room and reached out to grab Oliver's arm firmly when he reached for the door. Oliver shot him a glare and yanked his arm out of his grip. He didn't like being handled roughly, as he had told him many times before. Christoph got the point and took a step back. "It's dangerous out there for you, Ollie. I just... I worry about you."

"I know, but you need to worry about Paul, too. He's your friend." Oliver paused and looked Christoph up and down before adding, "But at this point, I don't see why he'd consider you a friend. I love you, Christoph, but you aren't treating him fairly right now. If you don't want to do anything for him, that's fine. Do it for me or do it for yourself. What I brought to your attention isn't finished yet, probably because you and I haven't done much of anything about it. Paul's the only one taking charge here and that isn't fair to him." Letting the words hang in the air for a moment, Oliver grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open a bit as he glanced down at Christoph's feet. "I'm going to help Paul whether you like it or not. If you need me, you know where to find me. I love you."

Christoph didn't say anything. Instead, he watched in silence as Oliver pushed the door open enough to slip out then shut it behind him. Christoph stood in the middle of the room with soapy water drying under his jaw and chin, and droplets of water dripping off of his fingertips to land on the floor below his feet.

Maybe Oliver had a point. Maybe he was treating Paul poorly and leaving him to solve everything. But then again, that couldn't have been true. He was doing more than enough to help with things, he believed. He was keeping Oliver safe and alive (as alive as he could be), and he was the one who got the idea to recruit Paul to help them out. Had he not done those things, there was no telling where they would be currently.

Christoph was stubborn. Something in him told him that Oliver had made a point, but another part of him was convinced that he was playing his part in the grand scheme of things and that nothing more could be done on his end. Since the latter was easier to accept, Christoph agreed with it and took it for what it was without paying any mind to the former, despite what Oliver said to him.

With a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, Christoph dismissively waved his hand before retreating to the bathroom to drown out his thoughts in the bath.

—

"I hate Christoph. I hate him with everything in me. That stupid, selfish little prick! I should've listened to my gut when I first met him."

"I tried to tell him that his lack of participation was hurting you, but he wouldn't listen. I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? That only goes to show that Christoph truly is the most stubborn man on the face of the Earth."

"What makes you say that?"

"If he won't even listen to the person he loves most in the world, he won't listen to anyone," Paul said. Scoffing, he chuckled humorlessly as he tilted his head back and linked his fingers together behind it. He sighed through pursed lips and shut his eyes, blindly pacing around Flake's office as the two others sat in the chairs at the desk. "He's a dick. He really is, Ollie, and I'm sorry that you've fallen in love with someone as heartless as he is."

Oliver and Flake shared a look with one another, wondering and waiting to see how long it would take for Paul to realize what he had said. Paul sighed once again before he abruptly stopped where he was. Lowering his head and dropping his arms to his sides, he looked over at Oliver and frowned.

"Sorry," he said, "Poor choice of words."

"No offense taken," Oliver said, "I wouldn't say he's heartless. He's stubborn, yes, but I think he lives in his head too much."

"He sounds like Till," Flake commented. Glancing between Paul and Oliver, he shrugged and brought his hand up to rub the side of his neck. "Till is stubborn like that. Somedays, he won't even take his medicine because he believes that he'll get better on his own. Other times, he'll think he knows more than I do about medical things and will fight with me about it. He isn't heartless either... He just doesn't know how to swallow his pride."

"Till and Schneider should be friends, then," Paul mumbled, "Richard can be that way, too, but he mostly just cries. He doesn't fight with me all that often."

"Your personalities don't clash? From what you've told me about him, it seems like you two would have a lot to argue about sometimes."

Paul shrugged. "There are always plenty of things to argue about. I just try to sit back and listen to what Richard's saying before I react. Richard can be dramatic sometimes, so it's better to let him get his hissy fit out of the way before you dive into the things that he says that actually have meaning to them."

"How long does that usually take?"

"One time, it took a month. I can't even remember what we were fighting about, but he wanted control over something in his teaching department and when he couldn't get it for very obvious reasons, he was angry. I tried to explain to him why it wouldn't work and he wouldn't listen to me. We fought about it for a month— Well, _he_ fought about it for a month. I just tuned him out until he was done whining."

From his chair, Oliver couldn't help but giggle softly. Though he didn't know Richard, he could picture their fights as clear as day. Paul seemed to be the type to add unnecessary humor to fights, since he had done so in serious situations when they first met, and Richard seemed like one to get angry at such a thing. Christoph, on the other hand, was the type to bite back a bit harder than necessary. Oliver didn't know where he stood. He added input when he deemed it necessary, but other than that, he remained silent and compliant. He always wanted to listen to whatever the other person was saying before he said his piece.

"I don't fight with Till because I can't," Flake said. Paul and Oliver looked over at him and waited for him to elaborate. With shifty eyes and a shrug of his bony shoulders, he did, "It's like talking to a brick wall. If we disagree, he's right and I'm wrong. I don't think I'm wrong, but he thinks I am. Most of the time, I end up biting the bullet and saying that I am anyway. It's the only way to get him to stop."

"Jesus," Paul muttered, "How long have you been doing that? Thirteen years, you said?"

Flake nodded. "Yes. Thirteen years. Recently, it's been unbearable."

"Why?"

"I think he's suspicious of me," Flake admitted. The three fell silent for a moment. In his seat, Flake shifted and cleared his throat, keeping his gaze down on his hands in his lap rather than looking at Paul and Oliver. Quietly, he spoke, his voice shaking slightly, "I... I label the blood that I bring to him because that's what his mother used to do. It was so that if one person's blood seemed to work better, they'd be sure to use only their blood rather than anyone else's... I never saw how it was possible to narrow something like that down, but I never questioned Frau Lindemann... I don't question Till either. He's exactly like her."

"What's making them suspicious?" Oliver pressed, his voice as to not make Flake more anxious than he was already, "Has he noticed something wrong with Richard's blood?"

"He's noticed that I don't bring him any of his blood anymore," Flake whispered. It was barely loud enough for Paul to hear, but once he registered what had been said, his throat and mouth began going dry. Before he could say anything, Flake continued, "He asked me the other day how Richard was doing... then he asked again a couple days ago. Ever since then, he's been asking more than twice a day about Richard."

"What have you been telling him?" Paul asked. Anxiety coursed through him and left him to pick at his nails as he bit his lower lip, swallowing thickly with his heart racing in his chest. "Does he know about what we're doing?"

"No... I don't think so, at least. He doesn't visit the hospital. It's too much of a risk to his immune system. But he thinks that I'm lying when I say that Richard is getting worse and that his blood is too poor for him to take into his own body."

"Has anything like that ever happened before?"

"It has, but Till said that he liked Richard's blood. He misses it."

"He can't have my lover's blood," Paul spit out with a bite, "He can have everyone else's, but not Richard's."

"That's the opposite of why I'm here," Oliver commented quietly.

"I know, I just— It was a figured of speech, okay, I know what needs to be done, I'm just... frazzled."

"Christoph said you hated that word."

"I do, so you know how awful I must feel right now."

"Richard will be better in a couple weeks," Flake butted in, "I'm worried about Till, though. I'm afraid he's going to do something."

"Like what?" Oliver turned to face Flake. He ran his eyes over the signs of worry that were etched across his face and frowned. If he had a heart, it would be sinking to the pit of his stomach at this moment. Instead, he was left to feel nothing but a lingering sensation of anxiety and guilt mixed with fear. "Do you think he'll hurt you?"

"I don't know. He's never hurt me before, but... All of this has gone to his head. He thinks it makes him better."

"I honestly don't know how it hasn't killed him yet."

Flake opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Oliver, who was still facing him, knitted his eyebrows together and waited patiently for Flake to speak. When he didn't, Paul crossed his arms and stepped over to the two of them. He grabbed his chair and turned it around to sit backwards in it, his arms crossing over the back of it as he leaned his chest against it.

"It's okay, Flake," Oliver said softly to him. Resting a hand on his shoulder, he gave it a reassuring squeeze, saying, "We're here for you. We're together with this."

Flake nodded and swallowed hard. He loved Till. He had only fallen in love once in his life and it had been with him. He wasn't looking to love anyone else ever again. Once Till died, that would be it for Flake. He would have no one else to love or be with. Flake was fine with that, however. Now that he was waking up and realizing what all Till and his mother had coaxed him into doing, he wasn't sure if he could ever trust or love someone else after this. No one was who they said they were—not even himself.

"I– I tried to kill him," Flake admitted. The sudden confession earned a sharp inhale from Paul and a series of confused, stunned blinks from Oliver. Flake's shaky fingers took a light grip on his pants and tugged, hoping that preoccupying himself somehow would make it easier for him to confess to what he had done. "I didn't... I didn't— I wasn't thinking. But he's so sick and he'll die soon. He isn't meant to live much longer. He wasn't even meant to live this long. How he has is a medical phenomenon. But... he's dying. We both know it. He's weaker than ever and he's older now. His bones and joints hurt, he has trouble getting up and down the stairs, and somedays he can't even get out of bed. Everything hurts too much for him." Tears built up in Flake's eyes as he kept his gaze down on his lap. He couldn't look at Paul or Oliver. If he did, he'd breakdown. "I... I love him. I don't know why, but I do. You aren't supposed to love someone you can't trust, but that's where this has ended up. I can't trust Till, but I love him and it hurts to see him suffer. It's better to just... end his life than make him go about each and every day in pain. Once I do that, then you guys can benefit from it, too."

"How did you almost kill him, Flake?" Paul asked, attempting to keep his tone level and calm for everyone's sake, "What happened?"

"When he was sleeping, I tried to inject some of the numbing medication that I usually give my patients into his IV... I was halfway through with it when he woke up." Flake shuddered, his fingers suddenly taking a tight grip on his trousers. "He looked at me and he looked... mad. Angry. Like he knew what I was doing and why I was doing it... A– And I couldn't even say anything. I just– just looked at him because I had been caught. But before he could do anything, he fell back asleep and stayed asleep until the next day."

"Has he mentioned it since? Has he acted any different towards you?"

Flake shook his head. "No, he hasn't said anything… but the next day was when he mentioned Richard."

"So... you tried to kill him last week?"

Flake was hesitant, but nodded nonetheless. He had already confessed to what he attempted to do. There was no going back now.

"Yes," he said, "I tried last week. Ever since, I haven't done anything else and he's been pushing to know more and more about Richard's condition." Another pause and Flake looked up at Paul. He met his line of vision, which reflected feelings of shock, panic, and fear. However, there was an underlying sense of sorrow and guilt. Flake didn't know why Paul felt bad for him. He had done nothing good to him ever in his life. In fact, Flake had ended up inflicting more pain onto him than Paul did throughout their years in school. Exhaling slowly, Flake kept his eyes on Paul's as he said, "I fear that if Till were better, he would come here and take matters into his own hands... It's for the best that Till is as sick as he is."

"What do you think he'd do?" Paul asked, gulping after, "What do think would come of something like that?"

"He'd kill Richard himself," Flake said, "And then I think he'd kill me... All to save himself for just a little while longer." Looking away from Paul, he spared a glance at Oliver, his head lowered and jaw tense. "We have to kill Till first before it's too late. We have to kill him in case he somehow gathers the health to kill us."

"Do you think that's possible?"

"If blood and greed has kept him alive this long, there's no telling what's possible."


	13. Dreizehn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Richard appears!!!

## Dreizehn.

It was late in the evening and Flake was finishing his work at Beelitz-Heilstätten. He sat behind his desk with his glasses low on his nose and a pen poised in his hand. He looked down at the documents and notes before him as he bounced his leg beneath the desk. He was reviewing his patients' vitals and their progress and recovery. Richard wasn't the only one that he was sparing and saving from the Lindemanns' past with killing the sick for the blood. Flake couldn't let that happen. He opted to begin treating his patients back to life rather than edge them towards death for the sake of Till's deteriorating health. If Till wanted to live so badly, he could find another way to do so—one that preferably had nothing to do with Flake.

Even going home to Till felt foreign now. Flake could hardly stand to look at him. He still loved him, but he didn't know why. He should've hated him. He should've despised him, and he did, but not enough to melt the love that he had in his heart for him. Perhaps he was in love with the old Till— The Till that he had met when he was in his twenties and clueless as to how dark the world could be and how horrible people truly were. That was the only conclusion that he could come to. There was no way that he could love the person that Till had become. Till only thought about himself and what was best for him. He would stop at nothing to ensure his own health and safety above everyone else's. Flake couldn't stand idly by and be his accomplice any longer. It wasn't right, nor was it fair to anyone that became the victim of it.

Had it not been for Paul, Flake wouldn't have seen how awful things truly were. Of course, he'd always have that voice at the back of his mind insisting that what he was doing was immoral and wrong, but Till was much louder than that voice. Till had been louder than most everything up until now. He called the shots and decided what Flake would be doing with his life. Till was controlling in every single aspect of Flake's life. He told him what he should eat, what he should wear, what he should do at work, and what he should do after work. Flake didn't have a voice of his own. He had no control of his own life because Till had taken it and lived vicariously through him because he was too sick to have a life of his own. Flake was realizing this now. It was far too late, but at least Flake was opening his eyes and realizing how wrong everything had gone. Along with it, he was coming around to the fact that maybe Till didn't truly love him—that maybe Till was simply using him because Flake did everything he asked and more.

Flake was nothing more than a vessel for Till to use to his advantage. Till most likely didn't view Flake as anyone important anymore. When they were younger, it was different, but now was a different story. Now Till was only focused on one thing and one thing only— Himself. If Flake refused to do something for him, then what was the point of having Flake around? He became a waste of space at that point. Till could find someone else if Flake slipped up too much. He could find another young and aspiring doctor just as Flake had been and bend and break them at his will. It wouldn't be hard. The only thing holding him back was how long it would take, and Till knew that he didn't have much time left. Perhaps he could keep Flake around for a bit longer. That is, if Flake didn't do anything else to make him question his motives or faithfulness to him.

Flake pushed his chair away from his desk and stood with a groan. He took the paperwork off of his desk and grabbed his bag, opening it to slip the papers in before shutting it again. He then draped the strap of the bag over his head to lay it on one shoulder, leaving the bag to rest against his side. Flake pushed his glasses up on his nose and broke away from his desk, flipping the lamps off in his office as he made his way to the door. He didn't want to go home quite yet. He wasn't exactly eager to see Till.

Glancing down the hallway, Flake watched as nurses and other hospital staff members came and went, disappearing into rooms and walking out of them either alone, with a colleague, or with a patient. Seeing others around comforted him. It reminded him that he wasn't alone.

With that, Flake stepped out of his office and locked the door behind him. He then turned on his heel to walk down the hall towards the corridor where his patients were being kept and monitored. One last check on them wouldn't hurt.

His feet were almost silent as he made his way to his patients' corridor. He nodded to the other nurses and doctors he passed by and didn't say a word, as per usual. Sighing to himself, he masked a frown and continued on his journey.

Once at his destination, Flake took his time with checking his patients. He spent at least five minutes with each one. He did a quick look over of their vitals and spoke to them to see how they felt if they were awake. He wasn't close to any of them. He couldn't be. It would feel wrong, he felt, especially since he had tried to kill them, only to change his outlook and save them instead. Surely if any of them came to realize this, they would despise him and wish death upon him. At this point, Flake was unsure if that was a bad thing.

As he got to Richard's bed, he stopped. He looked down at his pale face and long lashes, and noticed how his hair had grown. It was resting against his forehead now. Upon his arrival, his hair was shorter, but not by much—just short enough to stick up on its own. How it grew despite the fact that he was being treated and cared for poorly didn't make sense to Flake, but that was the least of his concerns. Richard's health was his top priority.

He didn't know how or when he had become so heartless. Surely, he wasn't like this when he was younger. When he met Till, he wanted to save people. He wanted to take care of them and provide them with the help that they needed. At some point, though, that changed and left Flake to kill others solely to save one person—one person that didn't even really deserved to be saved in the long run, quite frankly. 

It hurt Flake to think about how much things had changed. Neither he or Till were like this when they first met. Flake had morals and goals, and Till had an unclouded sense of judgment and strength to push on with what health he did have. Frau Lindemann planted something in their minds to make them change. She instilled fear into Flake and made Till believe that he was above everyone else, even if they were suffering in the ways that he was. Till, according to her, was the end all, be all. If someone didn't put their focus and attention onto him and did whatever was possible to save him, they weren't worth a thing. Even after she died, Till believed this. Flake had never told him otherwise and he had never had another physician after Flake took him into his care to give him their input.

It was a deadly cycle that Flake now desperately wanted out of. The only way to do that was to kill Till before Till did something to him.

As Flake stood beside Richard's bed, Richard stirred. With eyebrows furrowed together and nostrils flared as he breathed deeply, a deep groan building in his throat before it came out as a cough. The ruckus earned Flake's attention. He looked down at Richard and smiled softly, unaware of how deep into thought he had gone.

"Herr Kruspe," Flake said, clasping his hands together in front of himself as he glanced across Richard's features. His eyes opened, revealing bright irises and bloodshot whites around them. It wasn't uncommon for sick patients to wake up with complaints of their eyes burning. Most of the time, it was a side effect from the medicines they were given. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

Richard parted his lips to respond, but coughed again instead. His face contorted into a pained expression as he raised a hand and pressed it against his chest, as if the action would soothe the discomfort that he felt within him. Flake wanted to feel somewhat calm upon seeing that Richard was well enough to attempt to speak, but he couldn't. Richard was still in a great deal of pain because of him. Had he just done what a younger version of himself wanted to do, Richard would've been better by now. He would've been better a week after being admitted into Flake's care.

"Hurts," Richard got out through a scratchy voice. Clearing his throat, he grimaced and closed his eyes, his hands then taking ahold of his blanket to pull it up closer to his chin. "Where... Where's Paul?"

The simple question broke Flake's heart. He couldn't imagine how Richard felt at the moment. He had been stuck in Beelitz-Heilstätten for two months now and was rarely ever awake when Paul came by to visit. That was Flake's fault. All of it was. Richard's prolonged illness and stay, Paul's anger and sorrow, Oliver's return, Christoph's inability to accept the situation for what it was, and Till's caution. Had Flake simply broken away from Frau Lindemann when he was younger, none of this would be happening.

No one could convince him that it wasn't his fault. He believed that it was. Others had a part in it, yes, but overall, Flake was the main culprit. He was the first domino to fall. He caused the effect of others falling thereafter.

Swallowing the small lump that had formed in his throat, Flake said, "He is most likely at home, asleep. It's late in the evening, Herr."

"What time is it?"

"A bit after midnight." Flake glanced at the clock on the wall to confirm whether or not he was right. He did so with a nod then looked down at Richard again. "You should go back to sleep. You're getting another transfusion tomorrow."

Richard opened his eyes and looked up at Flake. Flake could tell that he wished to say something, but he didn't at first. Flake stood at his side silently, waiting to see if Richard would speak.

"I don't want another transfusion," Richard spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears created a glossy cover over his eyes as he looked up at Flake, but didn't spill. He paused for a moment, releasing a shaky breath and swallowing after. "Kill me. Please... please kill me. I– I can't do this anymore."

"Don't say that, Richard," Flake said. Kneeling down beside Richard's bed, he reached out and took one of his hands in both of his. He squeezed gently, willing himself to keep his emotions at bay, even as he watched Richard begin to crumble before him. "In a couple weeks, you'll feel better. Trust me."

"No, I won't," he whispered with a weak shake of his head, "I won't. I'll die here. I'll die here and Paul... Paul will be alone."

"He won't be alone and you won't die." Flake tried desperately to sound stronger than he felt, but he wasn't sure if it was working. Sniffling softly, he squeezed Richard's hand in both of his and looked across his face a second time. "You'll get better, Richard. I'll do everything I can to make you better."

In the dim lighting of the room, Flake watched as a tear ran down the side of Richard's face. It almost twinkled in the moonlight coming in from the window. However, his sadness was anything but beautiful. It was borrowing and heartbreaking, and it was tearing Flake apart the longer he allowed it to continue.

"Please tell Paul I love him," Richard said, his throat tight and eyes falling shut, "I don't care if you tell the authorities that I'm a homosexual. I'm going to die... and I know that it won't be with Paul so it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore."

"Richard—" Flake choked on his voice and trembled in his place, the amount of guilt that he felt nearly knocking him to the ground. "Richard, don't– don't say that. You won't die, you aren't going to die."

"I will. I'll die. Hopefully, it'll be tonight." Richard breathed as deeply as he could before turning his head on the pillow to look down at Flake where he was kneeling. "Thank you..." he whispered, his hand weakly returning the squeeze to Flake's hands, "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Flake couldn't react to what Richard said. He didn't deserve a compliment such as that. He hadn't done anything to warrant it. Not even his recent attempts to save Richard were worth something like that.

Flake didn't tell him that, though. He didn't say another word to Richard at all, in fact. Before he knew it, Richard was falling back asleep and his hand was going limp in his. 

Staying where he was for a moment, Flake pressed his fingers against the inside of Richard's wrist to feel for pulse. Thankfully, one was present and was much stronger than it had been numerous times before. It, much like many other things, should've calmed Flake, but to no avail. His pulse should've been like that the entire time instead of two months later. But no. Flake had been too caught up in saving Till to think about anyone other than him—even himself.

It took a few minutes for Flake to gather the courage to break away from Richard. He slowly let go of his hand, watching as their fingers broke contact and Richard's hand fell onto his chest to join the other. Flake looked at him for a long moment, willing and hoping and praying to whoever was listening that Richard wouldn't die—that Richard was simply speaking what he feared and that he wasn't predicting his own fate.

If Richard died during the night, Flake didn't know what he would do. He wouldn't know how to face Paul and tell him that despite his efforts, he had killed Richard. He didn't know how Oliver would react to the news either. Oliver was a victim of his. He had a right to be as angry as Paul. Christoph, without a doubt, wouldn't be happy either, though Flake didn't know him well. From what he heard, however, Christoph already wasn't a fan of him. Flake couldn't blame him.

Flake stepped out of the room and into the dark hallway. He sniffled softly and brought his hand up to slip his knuckles up and under the rims of his glasses to press them against his eyes. It was to keep the tears from falling. Though the walk home was long, he didn't want Till to notice that he had been crying at any point during the evening. Till was already onto him. Seeing that Flake had cried wouldn't help his case either.

As Flake began walking down the hallway towards the door at the back of the hospital, he felt an uneasy feeling rise within him. He couldn't describe what it was. It wasn't anxiety. He suffered from it every day of his life and had grown accustomed to the sensations that it oftentimes brought. It wasn't panic either because that typically went hand in hand with his anxiety. This was something different. Whatever this feeling was, it wasn't a good one.

Flake acknowledged the feeling, but didn't address it. Instead, he kept pacing down the darkened hallways to make his way to the back door. He didn't noticed that he gradually began walking quicker, however. By the time that he had reached the second to last hallway, he was almost jogging. 

He was being followed. Someone was following him.

Rather than ignoring the sensation anymore, Flake rounded the corner for the last hallway and immediately reached out to turn the lights on. When he turned around, his eyes went wide and his breath hitched in his throat.

"Till," he gasped out, his heart rate suddenly erratic and his breathing heavy, "Wh– What are you doing here?"

With his head lowered, Till looked up at Flake through thick, dark lashes, his brow in his line and jaw stiff. His posture was unlike anything Flake had ever seen from him. It sent an unnerving chill up the back of his neck and left him paralyzed—susceptible to whatever Till was going to do to him.

"I think you know why I'm here," Till spoke lowly. His bright eyes averted their gaze to Flake's bag for a moment before he looked up at him again, his next words coming out as a growl, "Give me that bag."

"W– What? No! N– No, why?" Flake stammered.

"You're hiding something. You're hiding something and I know it." Stepping towards Flake slowly, Till brought his head up, showcasing his sunken in eyes, pale and easily bruised skin, and cracked lips. He hadn't been taking care of himself, even though he promised Flake that he was. He heaved with the bold steps he took, clearly out of breath from having followed Flake down so many hallways so quickly. However, this didn't stop him from reaching up and grasping the collar of Flake's shirt tightly to force him towards him. "Where's the blood, Flake?"

"What blood?" Flake asked, feigning cluelessness, though he knew Till could see through the facade.

"You know what blood I'm talking about!" Till hissed, "Richard's! Where is it, Flake, where?!"

"He's too sick!" Flake said, his facial expression breaking and his eyes pleading, "I can't give you his blood anymore! It's too dangerous!"

"Don't _lie_ to me!" Till growled. With all of the strength that he had him in, he took a tighter grip on Flake's shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Flake's head made harsh contact with the concrete behind him and he groaned, wincing with his eyes screwed shut as pain coursed throughout his skull. "You better tell me what it is you've been doing recently. You're making it very hard for me to not hurt you right now, Flake."

Flake wasn't going to tell Till anything. He refused to.

"Let's just go home, Till," Flake spoke through ragged breaths, "L– Let's forget about this and– and go home... okay? Please?"

Till shook his head slowly, mumbling 'no' under his breath several times before chuckling. Flake grew scared, but still couldn't find the strength to move. To see Till act like this terrified him to his core. How could someone like Till have a hidden side as horrifying as this? How could he keep it within so well without snapping?

Had this been there all along? Had he always wanted to do this to Flake?

Flake didn't know and before he could get an answer, Till was grabbing him by the neck with both of his hands and squeezing. Flake cried out and snapped his hands up, scratching and pulling desperately at Till's wrists as his eyes went wide and his mind shifted into overdrive.

"Till! Till!" Flake pleaded, his face becoming an angry shade of red as he was deprived of oxygen. Gasping, he watched as Till clenched his jaw and pressed more of his weight against him, leaving Flake to choke audibly and begin coughing.

"I should've known," Till said lowly with a shake of his head, "I should've known you'd betray me."

Flake didn't respond. He struggled in Till's grasp and pulled at his wrists for as long as he could, even when he began drifting out of a completely conscious state of mind. When Till noticed this, he growled and dragged Flake close to him, only stopping when their foreheads made contact so he could stare straight into Flake's eyes.

"If I can't have their blood… I'll have yours instead."

Till held Flake as tight as he could in his grasp before he sent his head back against the wall, hard, leaving Flake unconscious and limp in Till's grasp before he could do anything else.


	14. Vierzehn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck Christoph!!!
> 
> Next chapter will contain major character deaths!!

## Vierzehn.

"I don't see why you have to be such a selfish prick about everything! I did everything for you! I did almost all of this! I talked to Flake, I befriended him, I juggled my classes, my students, my dying lover, and getting Flake to open up all at once! And what did you do? Nothing! You didn't do shit!"

Without a doubt, watching Herr Landers lay into Herr Schneider as they walked across school grounds was a sight to be seen, but most everyone kept their eyes away from the pair, and from the man that was trailing behind them with his head lowered and a scarf bundled up around his neck. The students weren't aware of which professors were friends and which ones weren't, due to there being a strict line between being one's professor and one's acquaintance, so to witness something as rare as a fight break out between two of the most renowned and respected –and liked, in Paul's case– professors on campus was something out of the ordinary. They wanted badly to turn their heads and watch the argument unfold, but instead, they remained obedient and kept to themselves, even as Christoph raised his voice to Paul.

"Oh, I get it, you don't have to announce it to the world!" Christoph yelled back at him, "I'm a horrible friend and I only think about myself! There! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I don't want to hear anything!" Paul shouted, looking up at Christoph as they walked briskly across the nearly frozen ground that lead them through the courtyard that sat between the living quarters. Paul didn’t care who heard nor did he care if he somehow ended up in trouble for scolding Christoph in front of the students. Christoph had it coming. "I just want you to change! That's it!"

"I'm just fine how I am, thank you," Christoph grumbled with a huff and a scoff to follow, "I had things of my own to do, which you would realize if you were actually a professional."

"'Actually a professional'?" Paul stopped walking in front of Christoph and planted his hand on his chest. He looked up at him with bewilderment and amusement on his face, only to let out a laugh moments later. "You want to talk about professionalism? Okay! That's fine!" Turning away from Christoph, Paul looked around at those who were passing by before calling out to a handful of them, "Hey! You six! Want to hear something funny?"

"Paul, don't or I swear to God—"

Clapping his hand over Christoph's shoulder, Paul pointed at him with his other hand, smiling broadly as he said, "Herr Schneider didn't pay for his own education and he didn't pay for the first two years that he stayed here! You know why? Because Herr Schneider’s parents felt bad that he grew up poor until his father got a better job, and Herr Schneider was such a good son that he did everything his Mama and Papa expected of him! And he wants to call himself professional!"

" _Enough_!" Christoph bellowed as the students giggled amongst themselves. Paul snickered, even as Christoph forcefully turned Paul towards him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Before anything could happen, the students departed quickly, noticing that things were now getting out of hand. Growling, Christoph yanked Paul as close as he could, spitting out his words with a venom that he didn't even know he had, "That's _enough_ , Paul! If you aren't pleased with what I do and who I am, then fine. Leave. _Go_. I do not want nor need you around anyway." Inhaling deeply, Christoph tightened his jaw, not thinking before adding, "You're useless. Absolutely useless. Your sole purpose for being here on this Earth is to wreak havoc and cause destruction. You can't and don't do anything right. To think that I once was weak enough to agree to being your friend is beyond me. I'm sickened by my own decisions."

Christoph's words stung like a knife to the chest. Paul stared up at him with fire in his eyes and anger pulsating in his veins. How dare he speak to him like this? How dare Christoph hold himself on a pedestal as if his existence was so much better than Paul's? It didn't make sense to him, but then again, he didn't want to make sense of it. If Christoph wanted to act like this, then fine. He could. Paul didn't care anymore.

"You should've been the one to contract tuberculosis," Paul told him, his voice low and even, "Both when Ollie got sick and now that Richard is sick. It should've been you because God made a _mistake_ by keeping you here and alive. What's your purpose anyway, Christoph? To fuck dead people and be a fucking dick? Because that's what it seems like it is." Shoving Christoph's hands off of him, Paul stepped back and away from Christoph, his gaze still ablaze and his hands in fists at his sides. "Once this is over and done with, you and I are done. I don't want to see you ever again. I don't want to speak to you ever again. I don't even want to hear anyone mention your name."

"Fine. I don't care."

"Good. Neither do I."

Spitting at the ground near Christoph's feet, Paul turned around and started walking in the direction of the hospital once again. Christoph followed shortly after, with Oliver lingering behind him as he frowned and shook his head to himself.

—

Oliver was pacing down the hallways alone, looking anywhere and everywhere for Flake. The door to his office had been locked and his fellow nurses and doctors hadn't seen him the night before. To add more concern to the situation, Flake wasn't in his patients' rooms either. Thankfully, Richard was still in place, but didn't seem to be getting any better. Flake's absence didn't sit right with neither Paul or Oliver. Christoph, since he had been absent with such affairs, foolishly assumed that perhaps Flake took the day off or was running late. When the possibility of either of the two was overruled by both Paul and Oliver, the three decided to split up. Christoph would be keeping an eye on the front end of the hospital where most doctors and nurses entered to begin their shifts, Paul would be patrolling the area around Flake's office and the halls where his patients were, and Oliver would be revisiting the places that he had been taken during his time in Beelitz-Heilstätten.

The hallways were as dark and as unnerving as ever. Paint was chipping off the walls by now and the lights had dimmed, showing signs of going out soon, though no one seemed to notice or care. However, Oliver believed that this part of the hospital wasn't in use much anymore. Based off of the dust and whatnot that had been collected on the floor, doorknobs, and beds inside the rooms he passed, he figured that no one had done much with this area for at least a year or more. He couldn't blame them. Flake only used this area because it was away from most everyone else and the poor ventilation made for poor living and working conditions.

Glancing around, Oliver looked in each and every room he passed. Some looked familiar while others didn't. He could pinpoint which rooms he had been tortured in and he could pick out the ones that he had been locked in from time to time to see how he would deal with being left without any care. Chills ran up his back as he recalled such traumatic memories, but he kept walking nonetheless. He needed to bring a stop to this. He couldn't let this go on any longer.

As Oliver rounded a corner, he stopped when he saw something that jogged a memory that he didn't know he had until that moment. A children's desk sat near the entrance to one of the rooms down the hall. It was falling apart and covered in dust, with the wood rotting and the chair barely standing. Oliver recognized that desk. He wished that he didn't, but he did.

—

_"Dear Mama and Papa,_

_I have a roommate at the hospital. He didn't stay with me often, but sometimes they move his bed into my room so we can keep each other company. He's very young. He says that he's only ten, which makes him nine years younger than me. He wears a mask across the lower half of his face because what he has is very contagious. I asked if it was tuberculosis and he said no—he doesn't know what he has. I've asked the doctors and they won't tell me anything. He is a very nice boy, even if he is sick._

_His name is Ralf. He comes from Berlin and his father was treated here for tuberculosis. Shortly after his arrival, Ralf came here because he fell sick as well. He says that his mother used to visit, but she doesn't anymore. He doesn't know why and he says that it makes him sad._

_I tell him that it's okay because my parents are also unable to visit. I hope that doesn't upset you. I hope that you understand that all I am doing is simply trying to bond with someone while I'm in here._

_Though I've only been here for a little over two weeks, I want to leave already. As does Ralf. He doesn't remember how long he's been here. Based off of how well he knows the doctors and nurses, and even some other patients, I reckon he's been here for months. I can't imagine being sick for that long. I feel bad for him._

_Despite being ill, Ralf is dedicated to his schoolwork. They brought in a small desk for him. It has a chair and a small table for him to write on. I don't know what he studies because he says that he studies everything. If he does, I would be impressed. As you know, I wasn't very academic. Ralf, on the other hand, very much is. He is a bright young boy. I would love for you two to meet him._

_Frau Lindemann visited me yesterday and saw Ralf in my room. She asked why we were being boarded together and when I said didn't know, she didn't seem pleased. Maybe she's worried that he and I will further infect one another. Ralf is young and susceptible to many diseases. The last thing he needs is to room with someone as sick as I am. Because of this, Frau Lindemann pulled my doctor, Doktor Lorenz, to the side and talked to him about something. I don't know what they said, but I haven't seen Ralf thus far today. I believe that their conversation was about his presence in my general vicinity._

_I hope that they don't take Ralf away for good. I'm lonely. I have never felt more alone than I do now. Though Ralf is young, I feel as if we are friends. Doktor Lorenz and I don't talk, though we are close in age, and Frau Lindemann can't visit often. She is a very busy woman and Doktor Lorenz is a very professional man. The only one I have around is Ralf, but now it seems as if he has been taken away from me._

_I would like you two to visit sometime soon, if I am not out by this time next month. My condition has worsened, they've said, but I'm hoping that within a couple weeks, things will get better. I don't wish to die. I know you will scold me for having such a horrid thought in my mind, but it's all that I can think about. It's inescapable in a place such as this._

_If Ralf returns, I'll write again and say so. I wish you both health and good fortune, and I am sending you all of my love. I miss you and I love you._

_Your son, Oliver."_

—

Ralf had died shortly after he was taken away from Oliver. Oliver never knew what he died from, but he wished that it was from complications of whichever illness he had. He didn't want to find out that Frau Lindemann and Flake had killed an innocent child solely for Till's benefit. While he wasn't upset with Flake for what he had done to him personally, he didn't know how he would bode when it came to discovering that Flake killed a child.

As Oliver stared at the desk that the boy that he had forgotten for so long used to sit at and study everything, like he said he did, he bit his lower lip and willed himself to keep walking. Ralf was gone. Everything he knew was gone, but yet simultaneously, it wasn't. It was before his very eyes—begging for him to venture further into the darkness to relive the horrors that he once experienced there.

Rather than walking forward, Oliver shook his head and turned around to return to the door of Flake's office, which is where they said they'd reconvene within the hour to discuss their findings. It was difficult to see so many memories flash before his very eyes, but he couldn't let them stop him from doing what he needed to do. He was here for a reason and he would do whatever he could to carry out what needed to be put to an end.

Oliver walked down the hallways until he came back to the door that he had gone through to find his way into the back of the building. Reaching out, he pressed his palm flat against the door and leaned his weight into it to push the door open. However, the door didn't open. He was met with the sound of metal clinging against metal, showing to him that something was now blocking the door and prohibiting it from opening.

Stepping back with a frightened look on his face, Oliver's eyes ran up and down the length of the door, looking to see if he had maybe been going at it the wrong way. He hadn't been. For a second time, he reached out and attempted to open the doors, only to hear the same sound that he had heard before.

Before he could let his mind run wild with the amount of fear and anxiety he felt, Oliver took another step back and attempted to remain calm. Maybe someone had positioned a medical cart in front of the door and had accidentally left it there. Perhaps Oliver had the wrong door. He didn't know, but he refused to allow him to panic prematurely. There had to be another way out of this area of the hospital.

Though he didn't want to, Oliver separated himself from the door and went back down the hall in attempt to find another passageway into the main area of the hospital, growing more and more desperate as the seconds went on to find his way out.

—

"'You're useless. You're nothing. Fuck you, Paul, you suck.' Blah, blah, blah,” Paul mocked Christoph under his breath as he walked through a door on the other side of the hospital that would lead him into the back area of the building. Flake had shown it to him during their time together when Paul was attempting to manipulate him into trusting him and even though it wasn't the area that Paul was assigned to watch, he didn't care. There had been no sign of Flake yet, which told Paul that he wasn't going to be there anytime soon either. Therefore, he took it upon himself to venture elsewhere.

Sighing heavily, Paul looked around the dimly lit hallways and threw his arms up in defeat. He had a slight idea of how to get around this part of the building, but it wasn't the greatest. However, it was better than nothing. With a shake of his head, Paul began his journey down the hall, still talking to himself in the meantime.

"'You can't do anything right. You have never done anything right. You're nothing.'"

Kicking at a nail that had been in the middle of the floor, Paul scoffed. He wasn't nothing. He knew that he wasn't. He was smart and intelligent, and he had a good head on his shoulders. At least he could say that. Christoph, on the other hand, couldn't.

"'I have my own shit to do, which you'd realize if you were actually a professional.'"

Paul was professional. He had studied for several years at one of the most prestigious universities in all of Germany and not only had he graduated on time, but he paid for all of his own education. He never relied on his parents like Christoph had to help him through the first stages of adulthood. Paul wasn't privileged like Christoph was. His parents couldn't afford such luxuries. Paul had always known this, but he didn't let it stop him. He knew what he wanted to do and he did what he could to achieve his dreams. He was professional whether Christoph believed it or not.

"'It would be a shame for someone else besides me to view spending time with you as a waste.'"

That had hurt when Christoph said that. Paul didn't know why, but it hit him hard and unforgivingly. Sometimes, Paul thought about that night. It was when Oliver had first been introduced to him by Christoph. Paul was using humor to cope, as he always did, and Christoph, in his typical fashion, felt the need to ice Paul out and demonize him for his reactions. Paul thought it was unfair, but didn't say so. It was a tiny problem in comparison to what they were dealing with and it was something that he would hopefully forget with time.

"'I'm Herr Schneider and I teach literature. I can recite books without even looking at them. I fuck dead men. I fuck over my friends. I don't care about anyone else but myself and I love it. I'm better than everyone else and my shit doesn't stink and I'm tall and I'm muscular and I served in the military and I—’”

"Paul!"

"Wait— Ollie?"

Oliver ran down the hallway and came to a stop before Paul, his eyes wide and a smile curling his lips. Paul, however, was still moody from his interaction with Christoph earlier in the day.

"I'm so glad to see you," Oliver said, relief present in his tone and on his face, "I tried the doors down there, but they won't open. Is there another door down there that we can get out through?"

"Yeah, I just came through it," Paul said, his tone flat, "Where's Schneider?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since we all left. Why are you here?"

"I got bored and wandered." Paul scoffed, looking over to the side with a flick of his eyebrows and a shrug of his shoulders. "Schneider will be pissed at me when he hears that I abandoned my post, but honestly? I couldn't care less."

Rather than addressing the fight between Christoph and Paul, Oliver simply nodded and grabbed Paul's arm to turn him around and guide him back down the way Paul came from. "He's very stubborn, but we need to get to that door."

"Why?" Paul asked, shooting Oliver a confused glance over his shoulder, "You sound worried. I don't like that."

"I think someone locked the doors that I came through after I came in here," Oliver said in a hushed tone of voice, lest anyone else be lurking the halls with them. Positioning himself by Paul's side and releasing his arm, the two locked eye contact as Paul lead them back to the door that he had entered through. "I can't be sure, but... it seems possible. I just don't know who would've done it."

"With our luck, today is probably the day they lock up this part of the hospital for good," Paul mumbled, "How fucked up would that be if you died in here twice?"

Oliver clamped his mouth shut and looked down. He didn't want to think about such a thing, but a part of him held onto Paul's words. He didn't like that it did, but he knew better than to look past something like that nowadays. Perhaps Paul was right. Maybe he would die in this same area all over again.

Neither of the two men said anything for a moment after that. They walked hurriedly in silence back to the door that Paul had entered through with Oliver looking around every so often to see if they were being trailed. Paul tried to keep his heart rate calm and steady, knowing that if he allowed it to get out of control that he would quickly become too anxious to do much of anything. Now wasn't the time to freeze up.

After several minutes, the two found the door that Paul had come through. Oliver lingered behind Paul, motioning for him to have a go at it to see if Oliver truly had been doing something wrong when he went to open the door that he had used.

Paul, doing exactly what Oliver had done, reached out and pressed against the doors before him, only to have them barely budge.

Recoiling in shock, Paul straightened his back and studied the door with narrowed eyes. The doors obviously hadn't been locked before, but it seemed as if they were now. 

"Ah, well... Maybe if I just—" Holding both hands out in front of himself, Paul placed them against the door tenderly before pushing against it with all of his might. Again, they didn't move and Oliver was met with the same sound that he heard when he tried to open the previous door.

"We're trapped," Oliver said softly. His eyes darted away from the door and met Paul's, who were wide and startled. Clenching his jaw, Oliver glanced at the door again. "I think... I think this is a trap."

"How?" Paul asked quickly, "How, how would this be a trap?"

"Till. It has to be Till. He did something to Flake. He had to have found out about Flake."

"Ollie... You're great and all, but you're really, really bad at trying to see the good in things."

"There is no good in this," Oliver whispered, "We're stuck here and once Christoph comes... I don't know what's going to happen."


	15. Fünfzehn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS.
> 
> TORTURE.
> 
> SADNESS.

## Fünfzehn.

"Has Doktor Lorenz come in yet today?"

"No, Herr, I'm sorry. If you would like, I could leave a message for him from you?"

With a groan and a shake of his head, Christoph broke away from the front desk at the entrance of Beelitz-Heilstätten. It had been over an hour and he had yet to find Flake. When he had gone to the door of Flake's office previously, neither Paul or Oliver showed up, leaving Christoph to feel a bit lazy.

Maybe Paul was right. Maybe Christoph really hadn't been that involved. He didn't know what he was doing. He knew what Flake looked like, where his office was, and that was it. Other than that, he didn't know anything about most of what they were doing.

He had been so caught up in Oliver that he had neglected to the see the problem that he decided to resolve, only it was Paul who was taking charge and fixing things for him and Oliver. Paul didn't want anything to do with this at first either, yet he did what he could despite how he felt.

Paul did it because he was a good friend.

Guilt slammed into Christoph as he made his way back to the office again. He really had treated Paul with little to no respect. He not only made him upset, but he had insulted his intelligence and his very existence. What kind of friend was he?

Paul had never done anything to Christoph. None of his antics of quirks warranted the treatment that he received from Christoph. While he did get on Christoph's nerves from time to time, it was never enough to make Paul deserve to be called a waste of space. Christoph could hardly believe that he even said such a thing. Paul wasn't a waste at all. He was a strong man with a will and drive to do things that most couldn't even imagine.

Here he was, leading the crusade when it came to putting a stop to Flake and Till's actions, all while Christoph sat back and watched from a distance.

Christoph felt horrible. He had crossed Paul one too many times. If Paul never forgave him for the things that he had said and done, Christoph would understand. If he were Paul, he wouldn't want to see himself ever again.

He wished that there was an appropriate time to apologize, but the situation wasn't right for one. Christoph couldn't bring their search to a halt solely to find Paul and apologize for his actions and ask for forgiveness. All Christoph could do now was do what he was tasked with and do it well.

Finding his way back to Flake's office, he tried the doorknob again, partially to amuse himself. It was still locked, which earned a sharp, quick sigh from Christoph. He didn't expect it to be unlocked, but it would've been nice had it been.

For a moment, Christoph rested his back against the wall beside the door. His knowledge of the hospital's layout was limited, but he could attempt to branch out and go elsewhere to search for Flake, if he was even there. At this point, Christoph wondered if he had been right when he expressed that perhaps Flake was running late or had decided to stay home, even though it was much too late by then for Flake to be arriving tardy. Flake had to have been somewhere in the hospital, solely because the chances of him being elsewhere were slim. Christoph couldn't stand around and wait for him. He had to go out and find him himself.

Christoph headed down the corridor in front of Flake's office and followed it down to where the three of them had gone earlier to check on Richard. The odds were not in his favor when it came to Flake being in that area of the hospital, but it was better than doing nothing.

As Christoph walked, he wondered how Paul and Oliver felt about being here. Oliver was killed here and Paul nearly lost his lover here. How could they pace the hallways and not feel as if they were held back by their own emotions and fears? Christoph didn't know and he never wished to find out. He didn't want to have any negative experiences in this hospital.

Between the three of them, Christoph was the most privileged one, in terms of health, experiences, and trauma. He hadn't gone through the things that Paul did with his parents. He didn't fall ill with tuberculosis like Oliver had, nor had he gone through anything like what he had during that same time. Christoph had it easy yet always acted as if he had it rough—as if the world itself was against him. In reality, it wasn't. The world was practically holding his hand in comparison to Paul and Oliver. The realization sent another wave of guilt crashing over Christoph, leaving him to shake his head at himself and sigh heavily.

Upon coming to the room that Richard was being kept in, Christoph raised his head before he came to a stop. His eyes scoured the beds that lay side by side parallel to him on the other side of the room, only to discover that one of the beds was empty.

It was Richard's bed. Richard wasn't there anymore.

"Oh, God." Rushing into the room, Christoph ran over to Richard's bed and searched it for any sign of him leaving. He tore the sheets off of the mattress and threw them to the floor before grabbing the pillow and tearing at the case over it, desperate and hoping to find something that point him in the direction that he needed to go in. However, he found nothing. "Shit... Shit, Richard. Richard, where—?”

Snapping his head up, Christoph looked around the room. Most of the patients were sleeping while others hardly looked alive. Christoph had to take a chance, though. He had to find out where Richard had gone.

"Wake up!" He yelled across the room. Breathing heavily, Christoph glanced over the unresponsive patients once again before grunting and turning on his heel to find something to create a loud noise. In the corner of the room sat a disassembled IV pole with nothing important attached to it. Christoph walked over to it and took it in both of his hands, flexing his fingers around the thin circumference of the rod before he looked at the railed bed frames that the patients were laying in.

He was bound to cause too much of a commotion, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. Not only did he need to find Flake, but he needed to find Richard as well before it was too late.

Sticking the pole out to his ride, Christoph charged at the line of beds, dragging the pole against the metal rods of the bed frames as he yelled again, "Wake up! Get up, all of you!"

The influx of noise was met with a few disgruntled and startled noises, which Christoph ignored. He came to a stop at the other end of the room and watched with wide eyes as patients began waking up and glancing around them.

"Richard Kruspe," he spoke loudly enough for all to hear, "Where is he? He's one of Doktor Lorenz's patients. Where did they take him?"

Once again, the patients became unresponsive. Christoph wasn't going to take silence as an answer, mostly because he couldn't. He needed someone to speak up and help him now more than ever—not for his own benefit, but for someone else's.

"Someone took Richard Kruspe from this room just a few minutes ago and if no one tells me where he was taken or who took him, he will be killed. Do you understand me? _Killed_!" Christoph shouted with heaving shoulders and a dry throat. Swallowing thickly, he flexed his fingers around the pole again, shaking his head as he began saying, "You help to have him because if you don't, he will be—"

"Herr Lindemann," someone chimed up weakly. Christoph stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked wildly around the room for whoever had spoke up. When a young woman raised her hand, Christoph quickly made his way to her.

Positioning himself at her bedside, he kneeled down beside her, asking, "Herr Lindemann took him? You saw him?"

The girl nodded, swallowing thickly before speaking again, "They went left. I saw them."

"Was Richard okay? Did Herr Lindemann do anything to him."

"No, but... Richard looked really sick. They were giving him another blood transfusion."

Christoph's heart stopped in his chest for a moment upon hearing that. He wasn't going to say what had actually occurred to the girl, due to the fact that she was most likely clueless as to what was truly happening. Instead, he forced a smile and patted her arm, saying, "Great. Thank you. I wish you the best and a speedy recovery."

As the girl weakly reflected the grin, Christoph walked out of the room, the IV pole in his hand and his eyes forward.

—

"Fuck! Let me out! Get me out of this thing!"

Paul struggled in the straps of the straitjacket that he had been put into in the midst of his unconsciousness. Beside him, Oliver was stripped to nothing but his undergarments and pinned to an operating table that was angled upwards— His arms, ankles, and head strapped down securely while a cloth was in his mouth and kept in with tape. Oliver looked over at Paul with wide eyes as he mumbled behind the cloth and struggled against his restraints, his fingers flexing in towards his hands.

This was all ringing too many bells. He had been strapped down like this before, only before it had been Till's mother who did this to him. Now it was Till.

Before them, Till stood with a smirk on his face. Though his features were aging and faded due to his poor health, his eyes reflected something sinister. Oliver yelled as loud as he could and tore his eyes away from Till, squeezing them shut as tears ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin.

"Seem familiar, _Oliver_?" Till said. Slowly making his way over to Oliver, he retracted the syringe from his pocket and held it up. Paul watched in horror as Till took the needle and traced it along the bruises that permanently scarred and darkened Oliver's arms. Oliver cried out again and shook violently against the table he was strapped to, sobbing as he tried to get away from the needle. "You know... It's nice to have you back. My mother spoke wonders of you. You were one of her favorites."

"You're fucking sick!” Paul spat out. Till spared him a glance out of the corner of his eye and sneered. Paul wasn't fazed in the slightest. Growling, he lurched forward as much as he could, given he was tied to the chair that he was sitting in, baring his teeth to Till as he said, "If you're gonna hurt someone, hurt me. Leave him alone."

"Who says I don't want to hurt both you?" Till questioned rhetorically with a smile spreading across his lips, "Two is better than one, Herr Hiersche."

"It's _Landers_. You know that."

"Not according to the government forms, Heiko." 

Paul's teeth began to grind together in his mouth as Till continued to call him by the name that he hadn't used in years, shaking in place as anger bubbled like water over a fire inside of him. Paul's reaction only made Till chuckle. Turning away, he looked at Oliver again, taking note of how badly he was trembling and how desperate his muffled cries sounded.

"You must've been the secret that Flake was keeping from me..." Till mused. Trailing the needle up the length of Oliver's arm, he applied more pressure once he reached his shoulder. From there, he pushed it into his skin as he made his way up to Oliver's neck, creating a small cut that stretched across his skin. Oliver opened his eyes and looked down at Till, sobbing and straining against the straps over his body. Though the pain wasn't nearly as bad as what it had once been, the memories that it brought back hurt much worse. Till chuckled under his breath and retracted the needle from Oliver's neck, looking it over with a curious hum. "No blood... I can't say I'm surprised. You _have_ been dead for quite a while."

"Take mine," Paul said boldly. As Till directed his gaze towards him, Paul swallowed and straightened up as much as he could. He didn't want Oliver to get hurt anymore. He didn't want Richard to suffer and die. Much to his surprise, he also didn't want Flake to have to go through this anymore either. None of them deserved it. Paul didn't either, but it didn't stop him from offering himself to Till. "If you promise to let Richard, Flake, and Ollie go... You can have me. You can do what... whatever you want to me... okay? Just... don't hurt them. Take me instead."

"No!" Oliver yelled from behind the cloth. Sniffling as he cried, he began sobbing uncontrollably again, shaking his head as he looked down at Paul. "No! No, no, no!"

Till ignored Oliver's pleas and turned his attention to Paul. Paul was healthy. He didn't have anything wrong with him and Till couldn't remember a time when he did. Paul was a smart man— One of the best professors on his campus, he believed. To have him offer his health to Till in exchange for his friends' safety got through to Till. It reminded him of why he began keeping Flake around after several years had passed.

Flake didn't serve any purpose to him anymore. Paul, however, had potential. With Till being the headmaster of Beelitz Gymnasium, he could quickly and easily find someone to replace Paul to ensure that Paul would be his and his alone whenever he needed or wanted him. Flake wasn't as accessible as Paul and Till was discovering that he didn't like his blood. Perhaps Paul would be a better fit for him.

Stepping over to Paul, Till looked down at him and smiled softly. Paul looked up at him with a set jaw and hard eyes, though the cracks in his expression allowed his fear to shine through.

"You, hm?" Till said lowly. Paul inhaled sharply and nodded, swallowing thick in his throat. Till's smile broadened into a grin, exposing sharp teeth and crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. To be gazed at in such a way made Paul want to recoil and sink into the straitjacket that he was trapped in, but he stayed put and met Till's eyes with his own fiery gaze. Till, however, didn't acknowledge it. "I wouldn't mind having you around... You've always seemed interesting."

"And you’ve always seemed too sick to do anything like this," Paul spoke lowly. All of the amusement was gone from his tone, stature, and face, leaving him exposed to Till for him to decipher and tear apart with his eyes. "Just let them go and I'm yours. My blood, my brain, my heart, my body... All of it. I promise."

Oliver screamed again, meanwhile Till began nodding slowly. Paul's offer was too good to pass up. Not only was Paul willing to hand himself over to Till for Till's sake, but he was also giving him permission to do whatever he pleased to him. Till had never gotten anyone's blessing to do the things that he had done to them. Paul was the first. Because of that, Till had to accept his offer.

"Mine," Till whispered breathily, his tone drawn out and long. He took the syringe once again and held it up to Paul, only to have Paul focus his eyes on Till's as to not look at the sharp, used needle before him. When Paul didn't spare a glance to it, Till's smile faded. Suddenly, he plunged the needle into the flesh between Paul's shoulder and neck, earning a sharp cry from him. Till chuckled as he watched Paul lurch away from him and heard Oliver scream for him to stop over to his left. "All mine... You're mine. All of you belongs to me."

Tears began running down Paul's face as Till extracted the needle from his neck. Within the syringe was a capsule of Paul's blood. Till held it up to the light and looked it over, his breathing becoming heavier as the seconds passed. Paul gasped out a soft sob and looked up at him, watching in horror as Till brought the syringe to his mouth and slowly pushed his blood out of it.

"You taste of _life_ ," Till whispered, his lips and tongue dripping with Paul's gore. He smiled, exposing newly stained teeth. Paul gagged from where he was and looked away, only to feel dizzy from moving his head so quickly. Laughing low, Till dropped the syringe to the floor and reached out to cup the side of Paul's head in his hand, his thumb brushing over his temple. "You are going to give me so much... I can already tell."

"Only... Only if you free Ollie, Flake, and Richard," Paul said through his gasps, "I'm not yours until you free them."

"As you wish."

As Till broke away from Paul, Paul stared straight ahead of him and let the reality of his choice sink it. He would be killed. Till would be using him for the rest of his life now. He would be taking his blood, his body, and his sanity from him. Paul didn't even feel human anymore. He felt like a piece of property that had been auctioned off and bought.

This wasn't about him, though. This was about saving the other three. If he was Till's last victim, then so be it. At least things would end and Oliver could depart to the afterlife, Richard could make a full recovery, and Flake could be free of Till's manipulation. Christoph wouldn't have to deal with Paul ever again either. Paul figured that he would be thankful for that.

Heaving for breath, Paul ignored Oliver as he screamed for him. Till freed him from his restraints after removing the cloth from his mouth, but forcefully held him back and away from Paul when he attempted to throw himself towards him.

The look on Oliver's face broke Paul's heart. Tears streamed down his pale cheeks and the green in his eyes shone bright against the red surrounding them. He reached out for Paul as he sobbed, fighting weakly against Till's hold on him and begging for Paul not to do what he said he would.

Paul had no choice. This was what he had to do to save everyone and he knew it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Oliver, "I'm so sorry, Ollie... It'll be okay. It'll be fine."

"Paul! Paul, no!" Oliver sobbed. Breaking his arm free of Till's grasp, he stretched it out towards Paul, screaming as loud as he could for him. "Please! Please, Paul, don't! It can't— It can't happen like this!"

"It'll be okay, Ollie. I promise." Choking down the lump in his throat, Paul nodded and forced a smile. "Take care of Schneider for me, alright? For as long as you can."

"You don't have to worry about me," Christoph said from the doorway, "I'll be just fine."

From the sound of Christoph's voice, Till turned and released Oliver with a gasp. Christoph looked him over with an icy glare and held the IV pole that he had acquired earlier tightly in his hands, wielding it back and over his shoulder as Oliver scrambled away from Till and attached himself to Paul's side.

"Herr Schneider?" Till questioned, his eyes wide and voice shaking. He recognized Christoph. He was another well known professor of his. "Wh– What are you doing?"

"Ending this," Christoph said, "That's all there is to do."

"You can't— You can't kill me! I'm a sick man!"

"You are. You're a very sick man. And that's why it's come to this."

Before Till could protest, Christoph swung the pole at the side of his head with enough force to send him to the floor. Till collapsed onto his side with a groan and a crack of several joints, his legs curling up towards his chest and his arms tucked in at the elbows. Above him, Christoph stood with a tight jaw. Christoph sent a rough kick to Till's shoulder before he stepped on it hard, pinning him to the floor as he held the pole up and above Till's chest.

"Schneider— Schneider, please," Till begged. Fear flashed across his eyes as he looked up at him and shook his head, stammering for a moment before he spoke coherently, "Please, please— Don't kill me, please!"

"You should've gotten mixed up with someone more forgiving," Christoph lowly, his voice as cold as ever, "Because I am certainly not."

"Schneider, don't!"

With a downward thrust of his arms, Christoph sent the tip of the pole through Till's chest, right where his heart lay. He pushed down and down until the rod came to a stop, leaving Christoph to grunt and twist it in its position. On the floor, blood spilled from Till's now open wound and soaked his clothes, prior to creating a puddle around his body. As his eyes slowly made their way up to Christoph's, Christoph watched intently as the life drained out of them, leaving Till to wheeze quietly beneath him.

Christoph didn't say a word as he witnessed Till taking his last breaths. He tightened his grip on the IV pole and twisted it again, watching him twitch one last time where he lay before he let go and stepped away, his feet leaving a trail of blood on the floor as he walked over to Paul and Oliver.

Silence hung in the room for a moment. Oliver and Paul looked up at Christoph with wide eyes, watching as he did nothing but adjust the sleeves of his shirt and smooth out his pants after.

"You killed him," Oliver said in awe after a moment.

"You came," Paul whispered.

Christoph spared Paul a glance before he looked around the room and the nearby countertops for a key to the straitjacket that he was trapped in. When he found one, he was quick to return to Paul to begin undoing the restraints of the jacket. It didn't take long before Paul was free. Once he was, he grabbed Christoph by the shoulder and pulled him forward into a tight hug, resting his chin on his shoulder with his eyes wide open.

"I'm so sorry," Paul apologized, his voice sounding as if he were in a daze, "I'm so sorry for everything I've done."

"It was my fault," Christoph mumbled. Wrapping his arms around Paul tightly, he pulled him against his body and buried his face in his neck, one hand reaching up behind his head to take a fistful of his hair in his hand and tug gently at it. "I'm so sorry, Paul... I am a horrible person. I'm a terrible friend, I shouldn't have—"

"Shut up," Paul demanded, "Just shut up and hold me."

Christoph obliged with a nod, squeezing his eyes shut as he kept Paul as close as he could.

Beside them, Oliver smiled faintly before he slowly let his gaze fall to the floor. Something in the room felt different. It felt full suddenly, though there was one less person in it now. Oliver's brows furrowed together before he brought his head up to glance around.

Immediately, Oliver was met with a roomful of other spirits. His eyes went wide as he looked over them, examining their faces and their visible scars. Some wore hospital attire, others wore whatever they were buried in, and a few wore close to nothing. They stared at Oliver with blank faces and still frames, watching as he rose to his feet and straightened up.

Though hesitant, Oliver stepped across the room towards the crowd of spirits seemingly waiting for him. Oliver's eyes ran over them again the closer he got, shock filling him when he came to realize that he recognized a select few out of the group. He saw the man that he had first seen when admitted to Beelitz-Heilstätten all those years ago. He recognized a classmate of his during his time at Beelitz Hauptschule. He even saw a girl that he once believed to be beautiful despite the effects of her illness staring at him.

They didn't say a word, but he believed that they didn't have to. He knew why they were there. They were there because their souls were finally being granted the peace that they deserved.

No one could rest peacefully due to what Frau and Herr Lindemann and Flake had done. However, it seemed as if none were holding Flake accountable for what had happened. 

Oliver slowly turned around, his back to the spirits and his eyes finding Christoph and Paul, who were now staring at him. They couldn't see what he saw. They simply saw him standing in awe in the middle of the room with tears in his eyes and a faint smile on his face.

"We can rest now," Oliver spoke softly, "All of us... We can all rest."

A movement to his right gained Oliver's attention. When he turned, he was met with the white creature that he had seen when he was nearing death and when he had first visited Richard in the hospital. Backing away from the door, Oliver stumbled back into the crowd of spirits and watched as she made her way into the room, his eyes wide and senses heightened.

The creature stayed crouched down on all fours for a moment before she craned her head to look up at Oliver. Oliver didn't say a word. He watched without making a sound or moving, fearful of what she was capable of.

With her teeth bared and her eyes dark, much like always, she unraveled herself and rose from the floor to stand on her feet. She was small with a contorted face and twitching hands. Slowly and unsurely, she stepped over to Till. Oliver remained motionless, both frightened and curious of what she was going to do, if anything at all. 

Bending over and reaching down, the creature pressed her hand to Till's chest and closed her eyes. Before him, Oliver watched as a silhouette rose from Till's body and hovered in the air. It didn't go above the height of the creature, even as she stayed at the angle she was at. Oliver held his hands in tight fists as he waited for Till's soul to be whisked in one direction or the other. Before he could even do so much as blink, the silhouette plummeted downward and disappeared into the floor. Oliver released a quiet noise and looked at Paul and Christoph with wide eyes.

That was when it hit him. This creature never meant to hurt him. All of the times that he had seen her, it was because he was nearing death and she was deciding what to do with his soul. When he first met Richard, he was sick and unable to recover, which gave her a reason to visit him. All of the spirits in the room had had their fate decided by her as well, it seemed. However, it seemed as if Oliver's soul was something else—something more resilient. Or perhaps she chose him to come back all along.

Oliver realized what would come next when the creature stood up straight once again and looked over at him. His eyes went wide and his mouth dried up quickly, tears welling up at the brims of his eyelids again as he looked at her.

"No," he mumbled weakly with a shake of his head, "No, no, no, I— Christoph. Christoph!" Running away from the spirits behind him, Oliver threw himself onto Christoph, grasping him desperately as he began crying again. "Christoph, I– I'm— She's, she's gonna take me, I'm—" Looking up at him with pleading eyes, he clutched Christoph's shirt in his hands and shook his head. "I don't want to. I don't want to, I don't want to go, please— Please, I want to stay. I want to stay with you, Christoph."

"What? What, what's happening? Ollie? Oliver, tell me what you're talking about," Christoph pleaded. Wrapping his arms around Oliver, he glanced around the room for any sign of anyone else. He didn't see anyone other than Paul, the two unconscious others, and Oliver as he clung to him and begged to be spared. Christoph suddenly felt a rush of emotion hit him as he looked down at Oliver, raising a hand to run it through his hair. "Ollie... Ollie, what's wrong? What's happening?"

"Till died... He can rest now," Paul choked out from behind Christoph. Christoph looked at Paul over his shoulder, seeing the tears glisten in his eyes as he looked between Oliver and Christoph. "You know what time it is, Schneider..."

"No," Christoph gasped out, tears springing into his eyes. Looking down at Oliver, he held onto him tighter and dug his fingers into his skin, as if his grip would save Oliver from being taken into the afterlife. "No, no, he– he can't. He can't, I—"

"I don't wanna go," Oliver sobbed. He brought his head up and looked at both Christoph and Paul, shaking his head as he said, "Please... Please, don't let me go. Don't let me go."

Paul slid out of the chair that he was in and joined Christoph and Oliver on the floor. He took both of them into his embrace and cradled them against his chest, glancing around the room before he forced down a sob and lowered his head, connecting it to both Christoph and Oliver's. 

"I love you," Oliver whispered to Christoph, "I love you more than anything. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I love you, too," Christoph whispered back, "It's okay, Oliver. It's okay."

"Just calm down, Ollie," Paul said as softly as possible. Rubbing his hand up and down Oliver's back, he pressed a kiss to his head, nuzzling his nose against it after. "It'll be okay. We'll all see each other again one day."

Oliver wanted to believe him, so he did. The evil was gone from his past life. He had defeated it with the help of his friends. It was what was keeping him in such an awful place for so long. 

He could rest now. He needed to.

Sniffling, Oliver brought his head up and looked at the creature, who was now kneeling before him. He looked over her figure and leaned heavily against Christoph and Paul for the last time, his gaze as hesitant as his soul was.

"It's okay, Oliver," Christoph said from beside him. Moving one hand to rest on Oliver's thigh, he squeezed it gently and gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "You can go now."

"I don't want to be alone," Oliver cried, "I'm so afraid of being alone."

"You aren't alone," Paul reminded him, "You have us now and you'll have us always. I promise. We promise."

Christoph nodded in agreement, his smile widening just a bit. "He's right. You'll always have us." Nudging his forehead against the side of Oliver's, Christoph pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering, "Rest now, my love. Rest."

Oliver didn't want to leave, but he had known since his arrival that he would have to eventually. Now was the time to do so. Till had been killed and Flake had shown remorse for his actions. All that was left was for Oliver to accept his newfound fate and depart back to the afterlife.

Before doing anything else, Oliver turned and caught Christoph's lips in one last passionate kiss. He leaned into him, dropping one hand to grab Christoph's and squeeze it where it rested on his thigh. Tears rolled down his cheeks slowly and dripped off his chin, splashing onto Christoph's skin. Christoph returned the kiss with a soft inhale, his nose nudging against Oliver's for a moment before he pulled away.

"I love you, Oliver," Christoph said one last time, "You know where to find me."

Oliver nodded, releasing Christoph's hand with a rough swallow. "I love you, too, Christoph."

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Paul already looking at him with a smile on his face. Oliver couldn't help but crack a faint grin of his own from the sight.

"If someone had told me about a month ago that I'd be mourning the second death of a dead man who's fucking my friend, I would've thought they were crazy," Paul said, "But now I'm going to be the crazy one when I tell people this story."

Oliver couldn’t help but deject a small laugh from Paul’s statement, shaking his head playfully at him. "I love you, Paul. Don't ever change." Leaning up, Oliver kissed Paul's cheek softly, saying, "And please don't get into anymore fights with Christoph."

"I love you, too. And no promises, but for you, I'll try." Paul wiped the tears from his own eyes before reaching down to wipe the remaining ones off of Oliver's cheeks. "Can't go into Heaven crying, kid. They'll get the wrong idea."

His comment earned a soft laugh from both Christoph and Oliver. Oliver nodded and broke his gaze away from Paul to stare at the creature before him again.

This was it. This was the end.

Rather than waiting any longer, Oliver nodded once to her, giving her the go ahead to reach out and take his soul from him.

Christoph and Paul watched and felt as Oliver leaned forward slightly for a moment, only to then fall back against them. His eyes fell shut and his lips parted, his body going limp in their grasp. They then watched as Oliver began disappearing before their very eyes. He became transparent over the course of several seconds—his body vanishing and his features fading away. Christoph forced himself to watch, even as tears clouded his vision and Paul struggled to do the same, leaving him to choke back a sob as Oliver left them.

Less than a minute later, Oliver faded away completely. Paul and Christoph looked down at their trembling hands and arms, which were now empty. Christoph gasped out a cry as his fingers curled in towards his palms, as if he was trying to feel the air for any sign of Oliver at all. When he didn't feel one, a sob ripped itself from the back of his throat, leaving him to lean against Paul and cry out as his heart broke in two within his chest.

Paul allowed himself to fall apart as well. He took Christoph into his arms and held him against his chest, burying his face in his curls. Both held onto one another as if they'd be ripped away just as Oliver was, their souls crumbling within them and their hearts aching over the loss of Oliver.


	16. Sechzehn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS.
> 
> SUICIDE.
> 
> TRAUMA.

## Sechzehn.

"Okay, just take a little step. Don't overdo it, just step forward with one foot and keep the other on the floor."

"I remember how to walk, it's just hard."

"I know. I know, just... be careful, please. I don't want anything else to happen to you."

Looking at Paul over his shoulder, Richard smiled at him, his eyes twinkling with the same blinding amount of mischief and life that they had had in them before he fell sick. "I'll be fine, Paul. You have to stop worrying so much."

At his side, Paul wore an exhausted yet relieved look on his face. He nodded after a few seconds and squeezed Richard's shoulder as he stepped closer to him. 

"I know I do," he mumbled lowly. He leaned in and kissed the apple of Richard's cheek, nuzzling his nose against the area after with a soft sigh that was expelled through his nose. "You can't blame me, though. After all that I've been through with you and everything else..."

"Paul." Richard abruptly stopped Paul in the middle of his sentence and turned to look at him—but not without grasping Paul's arms for stability as he did so. His body was weak from being sick and still for so long. Any and all physical movement had become almost foreign to him and more difficult that he proved imaginable. Thankfully with Paul's help, he was able to make progress shortly after he awoke from his coma. Flickering his eyes across Paul's face, he smiled softly and squeezed his biceps, earning a faint smile from his lover. "You don't have to worry about that anymore. It's over and done with. I'm here, all of the bad things are gone, and everything is getting better."

"You have no idea how horrible it all was," Paul said, his tone quiet, distant. Shaking his head slowly, a sorrowful look etched itself across his face. "I never thought anything like that could happen... I wish it hadn't."

Richard frowned and kept his grip on Paul secure. He had heard Paul speak about what happened many times over the course of the couple weeks that he had been awake and even he had trouble understanding all of it. At first, he believed it to be a twisted joke between Christoph and Paul, but upon seeing Christoph and how destroyed he was over the loss of his lover and hearing how traumatized Paul was from the things he witnessed and did, he quickly realized that what they were saying had actually occurred. A part of him felt guilty. Had he been healthier, he could've helped them tremendously, but he had been too ill to do anything to help them—to help _Paul_ because Christoph had been so distant throughout the ordeal.

"You'll never have to experience anything like it again, Paul," Richard whispered to him, "It's over... You're safe now."

Paul looked up from the floor with tears in his eyes, locking gazes with Richard. It pained Richard to see Paul so destroyed. It were as if he had been stripped of every protective layer he had over himself, leaving him vulnerable and bare to whatever may come next. Richard frowned from the sight and moved his arms as fluidly as possible to bring Paul into them. Paul was hesitant to rest his weight against Richard at first, but once he felt Richard adjust his stance and plant his feet firmly onto the floor, he leaned against him and allowed himself to shut his eyes, only to feel tears roll hot and heavy down his cheeks. 

"I lost everything," Paul cried. He sniffled loudly and clutched Richard's shirt in his hands, tugging as he buried his face in his chest and let his emotions loose. "I lost my view on reality, I lost my sanity, I lost my trust for others, as if I even had any in the first place—" He chuckled hollowly and shook his head, not thinking before saying, "I almost lost you and the fact that I didn't should be enough to make everything else okay, but it isn't. It just isn't."

Richard's heart broke into a million pieces as he heard Paul speak. He didn't hold his last statement against him. Had their roles been reversed, Richard would've felt the same.

What Paul had gone through was bound to plague his conscience for years to come. Richard wished he knew of how to fix it or ways to better it, but he was clueless. Paul's only hope was Christoph, but Christoph wasn't doing much better when it came to handling what had happened. Flake, on the other hand, had vanished without a trace. Paul had gone to visit him at Beelitz-Heilstätten shortly after Flake had woken up from his coma, but when he arrived, he was told that Flake had left sometime in the middle of the previous night and hadn't been seen since.

Paul had managed to get ahold of the address to Flake's house and ventured there alone that very same day. He knocked on the door with his hands balled into fists and yelled for him to respond and open the door. When he wasn't given a response, Paul took it upon himself to break one of the windows at the front of the house and enter through it. Once inside, he continued to yell for Flake as he made his way around, throwing open the doors to each and every room and corridor he passed throughout his journey.

Paul swept all three levels of the large house, only to discover nothing. He ended his trek on the balcony outside of what had been Flake and Till's room on the third level of the house, leaning against the railing and looking out at the nearby tree-line, as if he were still searching for Flake. He saw nothing but the branches swaying in the cool breeze and land that stretched for miles behind the house.

Flake was gone. There was no sign of him anywhere or any clues as to where he might've gone. Paul, though still conflicted on how he felt about Flake, felt alone in that moment. It was the final straw for him.

"Paul? Are you listening to me?" Richard's voice brought Paul back to reality with a shake of his head. He didn't realize that he had brought his head up and out of Richard's chest until he focused his gaze on Richard's. Richard smiled sadly at him and withheld a sigh, his arms still securely wrapped around Paul. "How about we lay down? You could use a nap."

"I don't want to sleep," Paul said, "Every time I do, it's nothing but nightmares."

"Nightmares? About what?"

"Everything," he whispered, "The hospital... Meeting Oliver for the first time and then losing Christoph because he had fallen in love with Oliver... Almost losing you... Having to befriend the man that was killing you and then discovering that the headmaster of the school that we taught for was behind all of the murders because he wanted to save himself." Paul swallowed hard and his line of vision fell to stare at Richard's chest. "He would've done to you what they did to Oliver... They would've taken everything from you."

"You stopped that from happening, though. You're so strong, Paul. So strong."

Reaching up, Richard cupped Paul's cheeks in his hands to cradle his face in them. Paul leaned into the touch and shut his eyes, his own hands raising to grab Richard's and hold them. Richard glanced across Paul's face to take in how much had changed about him. It wasn't much, but stress now shone through the cracks in his expressions. He looked fearful at times, as if he were seeing things that haunted him for the time that this predicament had gone on. When he would wake up, Paul would shake where he lay until Richard came to and realized how anxious he was. Some mornings, Richard had to hold Paul for nearly an hour just to calm him down. He never minded tending to Paul. He was just upset that he could've been spared from some of his pain and trauma yet hadn't been.

Richard had gotten into a fight with Christoph two days prior. Paul was sleeping when Richard invited Christoph over for what he said was tea and lunch. Christoph came an hour late, which didn't help how Richard felt already. The moment that Christoph walked through the door, Richard laid into him. He yelled at him about how careless and selfish he had been throughout the entire ordeal and how much his actions impacted Paul and scarred him. Christoph hadn't said a word. He stood in the doorway with slumped shoulders, dark bags under his eyes, and his hands hanging limply at his sides. Richard couldn't have cared less how Christoph felt in that moment, solely because Christoph hadn't stopped to care about how Paul felt whilst everything was happening.

Richard could hardly stand to look at Christoph once he finished yelling at him. Tears were building in Christoph's eyes and his chest was heaving as he took in quick, heavy breaths, clearly upset by all that Richard had thrown his way. Before any tears could spill, Richard demanded him to leave and never see Paul again, stating that Paul was bound to recover much quicker without Christoph around. Christoph didn't say a word during the entire exchange, nor when he left. He simply nodded and turned to head out the door with his head hanging low and his arms coming to wrap around himself. 

Christoph felt horrible, but Richard didn't care. If he wanted to feel better, he should've focused on Paul rather than himself and a man who was destined to leave him behind at the end of everything. Christoph was a selfish, heartless person who lived in his head. Richard had no doubt in his mind that both he and Paul would be better off without Christoph in their lives.

"Marry me," Richard whispered suddenly, his tone as light as a feather yet as serious as a heart attack. The statement earned Paul's attention. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at Richard, a pink shade tinging his otherwise pale cheeks. The change in his demeanor brought a gentle smile to Richard's face. "Marry me, Paul. Become my husband."

For a long moment, Paul didn't say anything. He simply stared up at Richard and blinked, his heart racing in his chest and his pulse thrumming away like a drumbeat in his veins. 

Finally, he parted his lips, saying softly, "That's not fair. I wanted to be the one to ask."

Within an instant, Richard began smiling with a soft chuckle passing his lips. "You can ask me, too. It's okay. We can share this moment."

"But I want it to be dramatic and great and wonderful, and just—" Paul scoffed and shook his head with a roll of his eyes, which was directed at himself. "Not like this. You deserve so much better. I look ugly right now because I'm crying and traumatized and fucked up—"

"Paul Landers," Richard said firmly, "Listen to me and listen to me good." Pressing his thumbs to the tops of Paul's cheeks, Richard guided his head up and focused his eyes on Paul's. The tears in Paul's eyes vanished within a second and was replaced with a hint of the blinding light that once danced within them. That brought a smile to Richard's face. "If you think a couple tears and a few bad memories are going to scare me away from you, you're wrong. I want you, and I want all of you. The pain, the hurt, the memories... the playfulness, the fiery side of your personality, and the happiness that you exhibit. I want everything you have to offer, Paul... I love you."

"Will you marry me?" Paul asked, just as he had hoped to, "Please, will you marry me?"

"Yes," Richard said through a chuckle, "Yes, I'll marry you. Will you marry me?"

"Everyday for the rest of my life," Paul whispered, "I'll marry you every single day just to prove my love to you."

"You don't have to do that. I already know that you love me."

For the first time in months, Paul beamed a bright, wide smile at Richard. For a moment, every negative emotion fled his being and mind, leaving him to feel happy and elated.

"I love you, Richard," Paul whispered, his lips twitching as his eyes danced across Richard's face, "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Richard said back, his smile mirroring Paul's.

Paul connected his lips to Richard's in a passionate kiss as he cupped Richard's cheeks in his hands, just as Richard was doing to him. Richard reciprocated the kiss with his grin still intact, kissing Paul with all of the love that he felt for him and holding him close, as if something would come and rip them away from this moment.

—

The breeze blew gently against the wood of the cabin and whistled through the cracks of the walls, leaving Flake to shudder in his place. With a tight throat and shaky hands, he looked at the small decorative pot in his hands. Stripes ran vertically up and down the height of the pot, creating sections for different patterns and depictions against the clay. Flake stared down at it for a long moment and sniffled quietly, breaking the momentary silence in the cabin.

This was all he had left of Till. His body had been cremated shortly after he died and the ashes were given to Flake when he awoke from his coma. Immediately after, he fled from the hospital and took only a few of his belongings with him as he escaped to the cabin that he and Till had found long ago on a lake that was an hour or so outside of Beelitz. It was abandoned then and abandoned when Flake came across it again. It wasn't suitable for life, but Flake wasn't planning on living much longer. He couldn't now that he had come to terms with all that he had done.

A part of him thought he was cowardly for killing himself because of what he did, but then another part told him that it was the right thing to do. Perhaps it would allow other souls to rest peacefully, since killing Till had done so for Oliver.

Flake couldn't allow anything to stay the same anymore. He had to bury himself with the past. It was the only way to give his victims justice for the crimes that were committed against them.

The weather outside was cold and the water that made up the lake was even colder. Flake didn't care. He didn't deserve a peaceful death. He didn't deserve an easy way out. He hadn't given his victims any choice, so he believed that he didn't deserve one either.

Stepping out of his shoes one by one, Flake planted his feet against the cool, dirty floor of the cabin. He shuddered as he fought back tears, his heart beating wildly in his chest and his hands shaking as he held the pot. Reluctantly, he set it down on the table to his right. He then removed his shirt and pants, discarding them to the floor next to his shoes. His undergarments were short to follow.

Flake stood bare in the middle of the cabin once he rid himself of his glasses. He stood in silence for a moment, thinking about the endless possibilities that he would be faced with once he departed from this world and entered the next. Would he be punished for his crimes? Or would he be forgiven because he realized that they were wrong and felt an enormous amount of guilt because of them? Flake didn't know. He had never been the religious type, but he figured that he needed to begin believing in something then. He didn't have much of a choice anyway.

Minutes passed before Flake allowed himself to clear his mind. He turned slowly to grab the pot off of the table and hold it delicately in his hands, being careful as to not break or drop it as he began walking. Though he was alone physically, he wasn't spiritually. A part of him had allowed Till to live and as long as Flake was still alive, a piece of Till was, too. That meant that Flake had to take what was left of Till with him to ensure that his soul had truly left Earth for good.

Stepping out into the cold, Flake shivered as goosebumps pricked up on his arms. The wind blew his short hair back and sent a chill up his body, starting from his toes and ending at the top of his head. Flake didn't allow this to stop him, however. He couldn't postpone this any longer. It wasn't fair to those that he had hurt and killed throughout the years.

Flake couldn't swim. He had never been able to. Whether it was due to his frail frame or to the fact that he wasn't inclined for any sort of physical activity, he didn't stand a chance against the lake. That made everything more fitting, he thought. No one who had been brought to him had any sort of luck or way to get out alive. Flake figured that he should be with the same fate.

Standing at the edge of the shoreline, Flake gulped as he stared out at the lake. This was it. This is what everything was coming to. These were his last few moments alive.

Flake should've been scared, but he wasn't. He was nervous, yes, but not fearful. Perhaps his conscience had known since he began following Frau Lindemann's orders that this would be what things would come to in the end. Whatever it was, Flake took advantage of it and began to walk into the water, the pot still in his hands and his eyes straight ahead of him.

It was time to bring everything to an end. Flake was the last living piece of a long history of coldblooded murders and the only thing that would put an end to their full effects would be to sacrifice himself to the same fate that he dealt whoever was brought into his care. 

With an inhale, Flake stared out at the deep water ahead of him and clutched the pot tightly in his hands. His time had come. He was ready to accept his fate.

Flake closed his eyes and let himself step further into the water, walking further and further away from shore until the water became too deep and engulfed him in his entirety.

—

At the round table in the middle of the kitchen, Christoph sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap and his back straight. His hair was combed back and away from his forehead, which did nothing but showcase the lines of stress and fatigue on his face. Said features coupled well with the bags beneath his eyes. 

On the table were documents regarding Oliver's death and what he had gone through prior to it. Christoph sat in silence as Oliver's parents reviewed what had been collected, though staying quiet became difficult once Oliver's mother sobbed upon discovering the letters that Oliver had wrote to them.

They had never been sent. Frau Lindemann had promised to mail them to his family, but hadn't done so. Oliver had never known otherwise.

Oliver's father comforted his wife as much as he could, though he, too, was on the verge of allowing his emotions to get the best of him. To confirm his suspicions that something horrible had happened to his one and only son hurt. It should've brought him a sense of comfort, but it didn't. It only amplified his aching need to see Oliver again somehow and talk to him.

It hadn't taken long to find Oliver's parents. Christoph knew ever since the first night that he was without Oliver that he needed to compile as much evidence as possible to show them what had really happened to their son. It was hard to do, but Christoph managed to get it done. Since Flake was only awake and around for a short period of time prior to fleeing once he came out of his coma, Christoph only received a few bits of information from him. He told Christoph in as much detail as possible what he and Frau Lindemann had done to Oliver. He explained a handful of experiments to him—what they were done for and what kind of results they would yield. Christoph had punched Flake in the nose at one point during the ordeal, but didn't do much other than that. Flake didn't have any strength or reason to fight back anyway. Before Christoph could do or get much else from Flake, he was gone and hadn't returned since.

Christoph had lost most everything because of what happened. Once Till's position was given to someone else, Paul, Christoph, and Richard moved far away from Beelitz and left their jobs behind. Christoph hadn't spoken to Paul in over a month. Richard forbid Paul from speaking to him. Once Paul told Richard how Christoph treated him, Richard held Paul at a distance from him. Christoph wished to fight his decision, but respected it nonetheless. He had had it coming. His actions were irreversible. His carelessness and selfishness had traumatized Paul. Paul would've been doing much better mentally now had Christoph just helped a bit more.

"Oliver was a wonderful young man," Christoph said softly. Across the table, Oliver's mother was clutching the first letter that Oliver had wrote to them, holding it against her chest as her husband wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side. She looked at Christoph with tears streaming down her cheeks, her expression showing how much her heart was breaking within her at that very moment. Christoph's throat grew tight and he moved his gaze to meet Oliver's father's eyes. "Frau Lindemann and her son, Till, have both passed on. As has the physician, I presume. No one has heard from him nor seen him in quite a while."

"How did you know our son?" Oliver's father asked. Christoph studied his familiar features for a moment and swallowed hard. The other male simply stared back, his eyes hollow with a sense of emptiness.

Slowly, a smile began to twitch at Christoph's lips. He blinked back the tears in his eyes as he looked down at the documents and whatnot he had brought over for them, his heartstrings tugging tighter and tighter the longer that he kept Oliver on his mind.

"We were old friends," Christoph said softly. He allowed the words to hang in the air for a moment before he went on, "We were an unlikely pairing... I was an academic and he was an apprentice. I was years older than him and yet... he was much more mature than I was and ever will be. Your son was a bright, loving, and intelligent young man who made whoever was around him feel happy and comfortable." A single tear welled up over the brim of his eyelid and slid down his cheek, dripping off his jaw and landing on the table as his smile faded. "What happened to him wasn't moral... That was why Herr Landers and I took it upon ourselves to make things right, though to be quite honest... Herr Landers did most of the work. Your son and I had a bond of sorts. I... I couldn't do all that I could've. Herr Landers found Doktor Lorenz and befriended him to manipulate him into telling the truth about happened to Oliver."

"What started all of this?" His mother asked, "Why now, a decade later?"

"Our colleague Richard was being seen by Doktor Lorenz and we had our concerns. Then I was... reminded that Oliver had been seen by Doktor Lorenz and things had gone in the wrong direction with him."

"Did you save Richard? Did Doktor Lorenz take him?"

Christoph shook his head. "He didn't. We unearthed the truth just in time and convinced Doktor Lorenz to cease his doings with Richard and all of his other patients. It's... hard to say, but we believe that he's claimed hundreds of lives during his career, similar to how he claimed Oliver's." He paused, only to sigh sharply. "He and Till Lindemann believed that the blood and body parts of others could cure Till of the illnesses he had. Everything that was done, was done out of greed and heartlessness."

"He took our son's heart," Oliver's mother whispered. Her watery eyes moved up from the papers scattered across the table to meet Christoph's, whose reflected tears and indescribable amounts of sadness. She remained quiet for a moment, then spoke through a soft tone, "Was it ever found?"

"No... But he doesn't need one." Nodding once, Christoph adjusted how he was sitting and looked away, doing so only to speak freely without feeling inhibited. "He has yours, Paul's, and mine to make up for it. Even in death, I believe he knows this."

The rest of the evening passed in solemn silence, save from the occasional cries and prayers from Oliver's mother. His father attempted to comfort her, only to fall victim to his own emotions within an instant. Christoph knew that it was difficult to hear about what truly happened to their son, but they had a right to know. Oliver had also mentioned his parents enough for Christoph to make it a priority to see them himself after everything was over and done with. Though doing so created a deep wound within him, he did so anyway, solely to give them the answers they had been searching for since Oliver's death and to allow a part of Oliver to vicariously live through him for a few moments.

As Christoph went to depart, Oliver's father suggested he stay. It was far too dark out for Christoph to be heading home by foot and the weather was less than forgiving. Though it wasn't snowing anymore, the spring showers were making their way through the countryside and creating storms in the later hours of the evening. Christoph, albeit reluctant at first, obliged and stayed with Oliver's parents that evening, but not without grabbing one of the letters that Oliver had written to them to read before he retired to bed.

—

_Mama and Papa,_

_Today, I feel lonely. I've been awake and in pain, and my doctor seems to be worried as to why I feel so much discomfort. He states that he does what he can to take my pain away from me, but recently it's become more and more unbearable. I wish to be with someone else as sick as I am, simply to feel less alone. The walls are plain, though I'm the one who plastered them. The ceilings are boring. The windows only let in so much light. The doctor only talks so much. I am alone. I feel alone._

_Sometimes when I close my eyes, I picture the three of us. I see us having dinner at the table. I hear Papa telling us about his day. I watch Mama smile at him with red cheeks and twinkling eyes. I feel myself basking in the love and life that I'm experiencing in those moments. I feel at home. I know that when I'm there, I'm safe and taken care of. Here, however, I don't feel safe. I don't feel as if I'm cared for. Surely if I was, I would be getting better and not being forced to live in such excruciating pain for weeks on end._

_I wonder if things would be better if you two were here. I pray to whoever is listening that somehow, you will show up and come into my room with big smiles and arms wide open, ready to hug me and hold me away from everything that hurts. I want that. I need that. I don't want to be without it any longer._

_I don't know what will come from all of this. The tests that they do on me don't do much, nor do the medications. Everything seems to fail. Everything is hopeless. I apologize for being so negative, but I have lost most of my happiness. I have lost most everything. That's why I wish for someone to be with me so badly. Perhaps they could make me feel better, even if just for a moment._

_Every day that I'm awake, thousands of questions come to mind. I wonder what will happen when I die. I wonder who will be present and who will be there when I take my final breaths. I wonder how the news will be brought to you. I wonder about my funeral and how many people will show up, though I will be content if only you two are there._

_I'm sorry for this. I'm so sorry for all of the pain I'm going to cause you. I'm your only son. Your only child. Your only combined piece of the both of you. And I'm dying. You will lose me in the end before I can do anything with my life._

_Mama and Papa, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I'm going to die and I'm sorry that I won't be closer to home when it happens. I'm sorry that I'll be alone, as well. I never meant to be alone when something like this happened. I never wanted to be... but it seems as if I will be. Perhaps I just need to accept it._

_Despite the sorrow and the hurt, I want to tell you this— Don't be sad when I'm no longer here. I'll visit you in your dreams and I'll be there in the back of your mind at all times. I'll watch you cook meals from the window, just as I did when I was younger. I'll listen to you as you tell tales about your lives, just as I did up until I left. I'll do what I can to make you happy even when you feel as if the whole world is against you. I'll always be around, even if you cannot see me. That is my promise to you._

_If this is to be my last letter, then I apologize. But please, remember that I love you both. I would not be the man that I am now without you._

_Thank you for giving me a piece of your life and heart to do right by me. Thank you for everything you done for me._

_I love you. I love you with all that is in me and all that will be left of me once I'm gone._

_I will see you soon._

_Your love, Oliver._

—

As Christoph lay asleep in his own bed several nights later with his arm hanging off the side of the mattress, Oliver's letter sat poised between his fingers. Christoph had fallen asleep reading it, just as he had nearly done the previous night. The night before, however, a sharp jolt jostled his body and woke him up out of what would've been a dead sleep. Christoph had never experienced anything like it, but he shrugged it off and placed the letter on his nightstand prior to sleeping once again.

That night, he kept the window open. Something in him before he retired for bed itched to feel the breeze coming in, even if it was a bit chilly. Christoph stood by the window for a long moment with his eyes closed and hands resting on the sill before he finally came back to reality and got into bed. He flipped his lamp on and grabbed the letter that Oliver's mother allowed him to take, reading it over again and again as if he hadn't done so countless times already.

Christoph could understand part of Oliver's pain in the letter. He felt his fear and related to the sorrow he felt, all while wondering how similar their feelings of loneliness must've been during those times. Oliver, on one hand, was dying alone at the hands of two horrible people, whereas Christoph was dealing with the loss of someone, who just so happened to be Oliver. While loneliness was a common theme between the two of them, Christoph knew that they couldn't exactly relate to it entirely. They had their differences, and some were major. However, that didn't stop Christoph from realizing that he and Oliver were aligned with one another once again.

Every moment of the day, Christoph missed Oliver. He expected to wake up beside him in bed and he nearly found himself waiting for Oliver to finish up in the bathroom some mornings, only to then realize that Oliver wasn't there. Sometimes, he would glance over to the side or look over his shoulder as if he was searching for Oliver. Oliver was never there. Oliver was gone.

The thought ate Christoph alive while reality chewed him up and spit him out shortly after. Nothing he did helped how he felt. Even when he tried to think of how well Oliver was doing now, he was plagued by the fear that maybe Oliver was stuck in the gray again and unable to get out. He also thought obsessively about whether or not he would see Oliver in the afterlife. They were never meant to cross paths in their actual lives and had only done so by pure coincidence after Oliver passed and was shoved back onto Earth to ensure that he and others rested peacefully. To Christoph, that meant their chances of finding one another again once he himself passed were slim. Ultimately, it meant that Christoph would be alone for not only the rest of his physical life, but in the afterlife, as well. 

The prayers that Christoph sent to the Heavens must've been ignored. Surely if they hadn't been, Oliver would be back or he would be dead, but thus far, neither of those things had happened, which left Christoph feeling as alone as ever. He could only stay with Oliver's parents for so long before he overdid his stay, despite them saying otherwise, and he could only spend so much time with himself before he drove himself insane. Christoph's mind was a battleground now more than ever with little to no signs of getting better.

Beneath the covers, Christoph shifted as he slipped into a deeper state of sleep. While his body was comfortable, his mind wasn't. Sleeping was difficult these days. The thought of waking up without Oliver hurt more than ever and the anxiety that it brought with it rendered Christoph useless in the mornings. Why couldn't he see Oliver for just a second after he opened his eyes? Why did he have to be gone for good from the physical world?

In his head, Christoph was stumbling around—feeling lost and out of place. Nothing was as it once was. Though it had only been his reality for a short amount of time, it was enough to change his outlook on most everything. No one had ever impacted him as much as Oliver had and nobody ever loved him as much as Oliver did. Christoph couldn't shake something like that from his being, no matter how hard he tried.

A feeling of uneasiness settled over Christoph for a brief moment before it was overpowered by a warmth that he hadn't felt in far too long. Christoph moaned softly and furrowed his brows in his sleep, his hands moving to shove the blankets off of his upper half. He sighed heavily through his nose and rested his hands on his chest, though the touch registered as something else within his mind.

Suddenly, Christoph was bare. His chest, with its minimal amount of hair, touched his hands as he breathed. He brought his head up and looked around, confused and disoriented from the lack of surroundings. The blue in his eyes pierced through the white clouds around him, shining bright enough to mark his presence. Christoph attempted to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His lips didn't even do so much as part. Taken aback, Christoph dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back, hearing nothing but the echo of his own movements.

Though he didn't see anyone or anything else around, his feeling of loneliness had faded. He didn't feel anything he typically felt when he was awake, he discovered. The sorrow that weighed down on his soul had been lifted and the darkness that clouded his mind had fled as quickly as it had come. Christoph didn't know what to think. He wasn't sure if he could think—at least as coherently as he was usually able to.

Looking down, Christoph watched as his lower half came into view. The fog around his legs parted and exposed his feet to him. Pulling his lips into a line, Christoph ran his gaze up the rest of his body and took it each of his features and birthmarks. His clothes were suddenly gone, as were the scars that he had collected over the years. He even noticed once he brought his hands up that the callouses on them were gone. 

Christoph took another step back and raised his head to look through the haze around him. He turned in a full circle, not once, but twice, examining everything within his line of vision to see if anything at all was there.

All he was met with was blankness. There was no color, no movement, no life, no nothing. It was just him, the clouds around him, and the echoes of each of his movements. 

For a moment, he stood motionless and quiet. He lowered his head over to the side and attempted to think, though his mind generated nothing. If was as if nothing existed in whichever realm he had entered. Somehow, despite how still everything was, it was calming. It was what Christoph needed.

As Christoph stood and basked in the nothingness around him, an echo came from behind him. Despite the noise, he remained calm. Blue hues flicked up from his own body and stared straight ahead as he waited for another sound.

A second noise came moments later, though it was closer this time. Christoph slowly raised his head and brought his eyebrows together as he inhaled slowly and deeply through his nose. The action echoed around him and filled the temporary silence until another sound joined his.

Christoph turned around again in the same fashion he had done before with his eyes wide and senses hyper-focusing on everything around him. Again, he was met with nothing but the haze that seemed to be attached to him somehow, yet he knew that he wasn't alone despite his lack of findings.

Christoph had only begun lowering his head when an exhale echoed from behind him. He paused, listening to the foreign sigh before a voice joined it.

"Christoph," a familiar voice said, "You made it."

Without hesitation, Christoph brought his head up and faced the direction that the voice came from. His eyes fell onto the other immediately and his heart stopped in his chest, the clouds around him fading for good as he regained his thought process and sense of emotions.

With that, Christoph grinned and met the other's lively green eyes, his lips parting to say one simple word.

"Oliver."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Richard survived!! Sorry to everyone else :// they fuckin’ dead.


End file.
